


Hana Song's Guide on How to Not be Weird

by LeftHand



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Jesse McCree never rejoined Overwatch, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-26 19:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10793040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeftHand/pseuds/LeftHand
Summary: Hanzo would never believe that Hana Song could give such stellar advice or display such wisdom beyond her years. He never expected to make a home for himself among the members of Overwatch. To make peace and find hope in life once again.But he did.He also never expected to get lassoed onto a mission with the most reckless, infuriating,irritatingman he'd ever meet.A man in serious need of some guidance.With Hanzo Shimada as his best bet for a clear head? Not being weird is a lot harder than it sounds.Author's note: This work is not officially completed and has a very round-about ending. I do not plan on ever writing a true final chapter but would still consider the work worth reading. Thanks!





	1. Chapter 1

“--Look, the people decided they were better off without us. They even called us criminals! They tore our family apart…” Winston tapered off sadly from the line before huffing his breath and continuing on with renewed fervour. “But look around! Someone has to do something; _We_ have to do something. We can make a difference again, the world needs us now more than ever.” The open line of former Overwatch members palpably held their breath as Winston finished his impromptu speech. “Are you with me?”

McCree was the first to answer.

“No can do, _compadre_.”

And the first to hang up.

 

* * *

 

 

Hanzo couldn’t say he had expected to fall in line with Overwatch so easily. Which was fitting, because ‘easily’ was exactly the wrong word to use.

It had been a trial.

A complete uphill battle, because the people there immediately garnered an intense distrust of him. Which, working as a sniper, made his job exceedingly difficult. To watch the backs of his fellow agents he needed them to trust him enough to expose their backs to him.

“I’ve got my eye on you,” one of them had said, the Englishwoman Hanzo held no fondness for (he held no fondness for any of them).

“You did that to your brother? Gnarly,” another had said, the small Korean girl who rode around in a garish, bright pink mech.

“I don’t need you watching my six. I’ll watch my own six,” the man with the visor had said to him. Although Hanzo took that less as a personal insult because he then went on to announce it to every single member of the team.

Hanzo couldn’t even understand why they acted the way they did. He stayed out of their way. He never attended cafeteria meals, he spoke very little, and he avoided direct eye contact.

At the time he assumed their distrust must surely be from Genji’s stories of him. His brother had, of course, known some of these people for many years.

Hanzo could not argue that he had, indeed, almost killed his brother.

So he left them to it.

It took precisely five months before he was made aware that his avoiding human contact like it might send him to an early grave was actually the _main_ reason people found it difficult to trust him. Although it had been ‘the Genji thing’ originally, his staunch exterior and unapproachable nature quickly went about re-enforcing the team’s initial distrust.

It had been the girl with the mech to tell him that. She’d been trailed by the man fond of music and skating. They had stopped outside his room and announced loudly, concisely and in no uncertain words: “Hey, Genji’s brother? You’re really weird.”

The man fond of music, Lúcio, had immediately continued walking as if he had lost all memory of who Mech Girl was.

Now, Hanzo was a learned man. He prided himself on his knowledge of many approximate things.

However.

It was painfully true that he had been out of touch with civilisation for quite some time.

“I am weird?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps you are right.”

That was how he and Hana sat down and drank tea together for the first time.

It took time, as all things did.

But after another month, Hanzo attended his first cafeteria meal. Hana hadn’t let him sit next to her, shooing him away in favour of taking a seat next to his brother. Had it been anyone else they may have taken pity on him, allowed him to take seat next to them. Particularly with it being his first mealtime as part of the team.

But Hana Song was an unforgiving force of nature who would steadfastly not let Hanzo’s learning progress take any such thing as ‘a rest.’

He ended up sitting next to the woman Lúcio held a distaste for.

“She’s with Vishkar,” he’d hissed over tea.

Hana often dragged Lúcio to her tea times with Hanzo. He’d been unwilling at first but soon discovered that Hanzo’s tea wasn’t so bitter when mixed with honey. “I don’t trust her,” he’d emphasised before delving into a rant about Rio de Janeiro and the injustices he faced there.

Hanzo had nodded sagely.

“You are Hanzo Shimada,” she said over coffee.

“Yes I am,” he replied.

“You have impeccable aim.”

“My thanks.”

Satya Vaswani had an extensive collection of teas Hanzo had never tried before. He decided he liked Masala Chai and in turn she decided she rather liked Hojicha.

It took a week before Lúcio would talk to him again, and another two before he attended a tea session with Satya there.

The look on Hana’s face was just smug enough to suggest she’d played them all and (much like any game with Hana) won.

After three more months, Hana stopped sitting next to Genji during cafeteria hours and took a seat next to Hanzo.

It took four months before Hana made her next move in his ‘Human Interaction Progress.’ (HIP for short)

“Get it? Cause we’re hip!” Lúcio had supplied.

No one let Hana change the name to ‘Tactical Interaction Team (Support).’

By some strange grace of whatever God there may be, she had managed to shift everyone in the cafeteria to leave only one spare space.

Next to Genji.

They all sat there like the scorned winds of a gathering monsoon, staring at him expectantly.

Hanzo had decided very suddenly that he was not hungry. And left.

They brought him leftovers later, but it took him three weeks before he took tea with anyone again.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time he sat over tea with the doctor was after he saved her life and, by some strange extension, she’d saved his too. She’d never liked him, reserving suspicious glares for him and cutting off conversation if he ever strayed too close. Of course, he did nothing to sway her judgement. She’d turned his brother into an omnic and he’d made the procedure necessary in the first place. He felt no need to disrupt this balance of distaste.

Hana had graciously written Hanzo a notebook. The thing was covered in stickers of different sparkly varieties and jangled when opened due to a keychain attached to the binding in the shape of D.Va’s signature rabbit.

Emblazoned on the front in bright pink letters was: ‘Hana Song’s Guide on How to Not be Weird’.

Within the notebook were pages upon pages filled with notes, doodles, and scrawled messages. Hanzo ensured he carried it on his person at all times and referred to it a little more often than he would care to admit.

Number seventeen clearly stated: “If someone ever says something mean to you: tell me!” with a scrawled picture of Hana in her mech stepping on someone’s head.

Hanzo rather liked Angela Ziegler’s head, it kept his team alive when they were banged up and unwell. So when she muttered something about ‘monster’ under her breath he hadn’t told Hana.

Number thirteen in the guidebook was: “It is okay to ask for healing!” followed by a grumpy face and a little medical cross. He did not at all mind asking for healing if Lúcio was nearby and his injuries got a little too severe to continue pressing forward. He even slowly became accustomed to the horrendous shock of being shot with a biotic dart á la Ana Amari.

But something in the crystal cut glare of Angela Ziegler’s baby blues had him playing reticent on any mission she attended as medic.

Until Genji had been sent to emergency surgery. Something about a circuitry change and worries about foreign body rejection had everyone hushed and worried. Hanzo had fervently volunteered to be boarded out on the first mission available, as was his way of running directly away from emotional compromise and into the gaping maw of imminent danger.

It just so happened their resident doctor, Mercy, was required to ship out too.

“I should be with him. He has been through so much. If this were to kill him--”

“Don’t worry, Angie. He’ll be alright! He always has been,” Oxton and Ziegler whispered just out of earshot of Symmetra, who was tapping away at a hard light mechanism she’d been playing with. Not that Hanzo expected her to provide support; she very much believed in the notion of fighting your own battles. Both of them did.

They were shipped out to Eichenwalde and required to offer aid to refugees being housed there, hence Ziegler’s assistance. The others scouted away from their set up, leaving Hanzo and Mercy to the people there. It was smooth, their comms working fine, and everyone assumed the mission would be simple.

Until it wasn’t.

The omnics broke into the abandoned castle like some nightmarish swarm of bees, leaving Hanzo and Mercy to grapple with them on their lonesome. Both accomplished fighters, but neither equipped for such a raid. Hanzo recognised the true gravity of the situation when Angela’s Caduceus Blaster backfired in her hands, leaving her completely unarmed.

“Go,” he shouted at her as the omnics came too close to continue shooting at. He swapped out his arrows in favour of grappling with them directly.

“I cannot leave you!” she shouted, and a quiet voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Hana Song suggested that maybe this was a sign that she did not despise him as much as he initially assumed.

A louder voice in his head that sounded far more like himself suggested that Angela Ziegler was playing the martyr too frivolously.

“You have a job, go and save your charges. I will be fine,” he bit out as an omnic grabbed at his shoulder. He levered his bow around its neck and pried its head from its body.

Before he could turn to ensure her safety, a second omnic grabbed him from behind and pressed its gun to his chest.

_Thwack_

Both the omnic and Hanzo turned to stare at Angela Ziegler, who had just tossed her pistol at the omnic’s head.

Hanzo was the first to recover from the dazed shock of watching a field medic throw an entire weapon at something. Did omnics even feel surprise?

Hanzo tearing out its central circuits with his bare hand interrupted whatever train of thought it may have had.

“I was under the impression,” he hissed as he jogged to her side and she ran beside him, “that you were not fond of me.”

Her eyes widened as she threw an incredulous glance at him. “I do not wish you _dead_!”

Hanzo stared at her like she’d recited the alphabet backwards.

“Hanzo,” she reiterated, “did you believe I wanted you dead?”

“I simply assumed that--”

“Hanzo,” she deadpanned, even as the omnics continued screeching behind them and their backs hit a door.

He scowled and once again jumped to grapple with one. “I just _assumed_ that since the events of my past tie so with yours that you’d have garnered a certain opinion of me.”

She jumped into the fray beside him, and Hanzo was somewhat surprised when she proved to be able to handle herself in close combat. “I think you are terrible for what you did,” she conceded. “But that does not mean I want you dead!” She emphasised the last word with a direct kick to an omnic’s torso, sending it careening backwards. Granted a spare second for words, she turned to him and put her hands on his shoulders even as the omnics around them closed in.  
“You are as much a member of this team as anyone else and you hold just as much right to be here.” She seemed remorseful. “I am sorry I have made you feel so unwelcome.”

Hanzo could do nothing but stare at her and wonder how such warm, blue eyes had seemed so cold before.

It was at that moment that Tracer and Symmetra busted down the door and ran to their aid.

_Number four: If you don’t know how to make friends with someone, just ask them if they want tea._

_Number five: if they say no make them some anyway_

It turned out Angela was particularly fond of Lavender and Chamomile.

Through Angela, he was slowly introduced to the older members of Overwatch. The members who had, as a team, been around before Overwatch was ripped down like some unsightly banner.

It was through this older team that Hanzo started hearing the name Jesse McCree.

It was like some sort of ghost story whispered throughout the base. And as these things go, after Hanzo had heard it once he started hearing it constantly. Like a bad song playing on loop in your head.

Jesse McCree.

“Have you seen him? I heard he has a bounty of a _million_ on his head!”

“I once saw him shoot eight men using a six barrel revolver.”

“I heard he used to wear five inch-heeled combat boots.”

“Yeah, people say he could shoot lasers from his eyes.”

_Jesse McCree._

“Who is Jesse McCree?” he asked Hana one day as she spooned the third portion of honey into her lemon tea. She sniffed indifferently and shrugged. “Dunno, just some mister.”

Hanzo frowned. Hana knew everything; she was the eyes and the ears of Gibraltar. If there was gossip worth knowing, she was aware of it.

They made eye contact and he assumed his frown conveyed what he hadn’t. She shrugged again. “Just some _guy_ really. Think he was one of Genji’s friends in Overwatch before it all got shut down.”

She shot him a side glance. ‘Ask Genji’ was near enough screamed in her sudden scowl.

Hanzo found himself suddenly completely nonchalant about Jesse McCree. In front of anyone else, that is.

As it was his, search history via Athena looked an awful lot like:

‘ _Jesse mccree’_

_‘Bounty of jesse mccree’_

_‘Overwatch’_

_‘Blackwatch’_

_‘Blackwatch jesse mccree’_

_‘Hypertrain houston mccree’_

_‘What does_ _별일 없지? Mean’_

_‘Korean language course’_

_‘Jesse mccree news updates’_

It was like an itch in the back of Hanzo’s head that he just could not scratch no matter how hard he tried. In retrospect, it was possibly the simple fact of knowing he could solve his problems by asking Genji that drove him to such distraction.

His pride harshly dictated that such a solution was untouchable.

“My friend!” A large hand clapped his shoulder and Hanzo did his very best not to act too much like he’d been smacked with a shovel. “I have noticed that you are interested in our resident--Ah, ex-resident cowboy!”

Ana laughed wistfully from across the room. “Of course, even away from Gibraltar Jesse allures pretty people.”

Had Ana Amari just called him _pretty_?

Lúcio interjected, “Cowboy? So this guy--This guy with the lasers--”

Ana sighed. “Who started that rumour?”

Snickering off to the right as Fareeha got up and left the shared kitchen suggested the guilty party.

Lúcio continued on, unperturbed. “Laser man really _was_ a cowboy--Is? A Cowboy?”

Ana nodded behind her tea as Lúcio’s face split into a grin. “Woah man, that’s dope.” Lúcio waited, as if expecting Ana and Reinhardt to start regaling them with stories about Jesse McCree. Hanzo couldn’t deny his own hope of such.

No such talk came.

A silence hung in the air like an elephant in the room obnoxiously blowing raspberries in everyone’s direction.

“Why did he not answer the recall?” Hanzo finally hedged.

The silence continued to weigh down as Ana and Reinhardt shared disquieted looks.

Neither of them could answer.

“More tea?” Fareeha was back, smile muted as she flicked the kettle on and steadfastly ignored the elephant tap dancing in the corner. Everyone gratefully chimed in their assent.

Hanzo’s Hojicha tasted particularly bitter.

 

* * *

 

  


  1. _if you're sleepy you're weirder than usual so, like, get 8 hours if you can_



It hit 3 in the morning before Hanzo padded from his bedroom in sweats and a loose tank top. His head ached with all the flagrant running around it was doing and his body, though exhausted, succumbed only to his mind’s incessant whim to keep him wired and awake. The sheer frustration of it had him uneasy and restless. He was so emotionally winded that he finally decided to listen to the rule within the guidebook that he usually ignored.

  1. _if you can't sleep come find me  : / : /_



It didn’t take long. One of the only rooms in Watchpoint: Gibraltar that had light pouring out from under the door was the recreational room. From within, Hanzo could hear the animated sound effects of a video game.

The door slid open for him and Hana turned around, dorito hanging from her lips and controller in her hand.

Beside her sat Genji, mask off and wearing a matching pink sweater.

They all stared at each other for a moment.

“Don’t just stand there, dummy,” Hana finally chirped up, crunching around the chip as she did. Without much further thought on the issue she turned back to the screen and the apparent racing game she and his brother were playing.

“You’re not going to get a go cause Genji’s trying to beat my high score and I gotta kick his ass.”

Genji broke eye contact with Hanzo to roll his eyes and shove at Hana, scoffing loudly.

“You cheat,” he laughed.

Hana gasped indignantly. “‘Least I don’t blame lag, scrub.”

It was so inanely domestic that Hanzo’s feet carried him to the couch of their own volition and sat him down on it, settling back into the frame.

He could sense Genji occasionally looking at him but Hanzo didn’t meet his gaze. He could see Hana smiling though.

He didn’t quite copy the expression. But it was a near thing.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hanzo, my friend! Would you care to drink with me?”

  1. _if u wanna get drunk try like, drinking with other people. reinhardt likes beer and he sings when he's drunk it's super funny_



“I--” Hanzo frowned before sighing. “Yes. That sounds good.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You lean into it, move _with_ me.” Hanzo demonstrated the tackle again, letting Lúcio power forward, letting the man wrestle him away.

“Use my weight against me. When I swing for you, pull into it, take my wrist and _twist_.”

They tried it again. Lúcio was evidently holding back.

Hanzo laughed good naturedly and tried not to let it sound too much like a scoff. “Do not worry about hurting me.”

Lúcio seemed sheepish but rolled his shoulders nonetheless. “Alright, Han. From the top?”

Hanzo nodded. “You can do this.”

  1. _stop telling people you're better than them (don't worry Lúcio had to tell me this one like?? i didnt get it lol i mean I AM better than them)_



They finished the session sweating and successful. They had much to work on, but with daily classes Lúcio would be able to handle himself in close combat with far more ability than before. Hanzo was somewhat peeved that no one had thought to tutor the man already. Of course Lúcio usually didn’t allow himself to be caught in such a situation, but there was never any harm in preparing for the worst.

“Thanks.” Lúcio caught him by the arm and shook his hand. Hanzo just limply let it happen, lips parting in shock. “I mean it, really appreciate it y’know?” Hanzo stumbled over his words as he bit out a quick “You’re welcome.”

Lúcio laughed a little and shot him a genuine grin as he jogged away.

  1. _but remember that you ARE pretty great_



Shaking his head, he picked up his water bottle and strode from the training hall.

 

* * *

 

 

“May I sit here?”

They all froze like some sort of Saturday children’s cartoon. The lot of them all rabbits caught in the headlights as Genji gestured to the chair beside Hanzo.

The chair that, for a single second, became the centre of the universe.

Hanzo started to turn away from him, to desperately ignore him, but made the dire mistake of meeting Hana’s eyes. She mouthed a number.

‘ _Three_ ’

He had the first few points within the handbook near enough memorised. He’d been particularly guilty of this before Hana really started to affiliate herself with him.

  1. _If someone asks you a question, answer it. Don't just like, walk away. That's super weird. Bonus points if you answer it with more than a y/n_



He gritted his teeth and turned to his brother, eyes landing on an expressionless visor.

He knew somewhere in the back of his head that he could turn him down, that _was_ an option. He could just say ‘no’ and be done with it and everyone on the table would look vexed and Hana would rub her temples, but otherwise it’d be done.

What instead came out of his mouth was, “Do as you like.”

If a mask could seem pleased, his brother somehow made it work.

 

* * *

 

 

  1. _recovery doesn't have to be an uphill battle. you got people. we got you. we're all big saps and we’re a team. this one's an important one._



Snow came down and Hanzo bought a cake.

 

* * *

 

 

The date was July 28th 2077.

“Hana, you require as much sleep as the rest of us,” Hanzo said, pulling at the girl’s arm and dragging her to a table. She had deep purple bags under her eyes and was carrying around a bag of chips like it was her last lifeline to the corporeal world.

“I finally hit platinum. It took me three days,” She dropped into a hushed whisper, “But I _did_ it.”

Hanzo and Lucio exchanged a _look_.

“Right, that’s it.” Lucio stood, dragging Hana with him as he did. “Bed.”

“No.” She drew out the word and slapped her hands to her sides, spilling chips across the floor.

“Number seven,” Hanzo said.

Her groans intensified. “Oh my god, stop using that on me.”

He shrugged, playing innocent. “Worked for me.”

“Oh my _god,_ you are evil.” She threw her hands up, scattering doritos like confetti. “Fine.”

She stormed off alongside Lucio, leaving the cafeteria empty save for Hanzo, who moved to the fridge to grab ingredients for breakfast.

The sound of voices made their way down the hall and Hanzo grabbed more items out in preparation of whatever hungry mouth was going to round the corner and stare mournfully at his food.

“No. This is non-negotiable.” Morrison’s voice broke the door threshold. He seemed to want to stop the train of conversation when he saw Hanzo glance at him from across the room, but Genji grabbing his shoulder and turning the man back around to face him shook the consternation from him, replaced by an indignant scowl.

“So are you going to turn this down? This is an opportunity that Overwatch can’t refuse and you know it!”

Hanzo pretended to be too busy to notice Ana round the corner and put her hand on Genji’s shoulder. “It cannot be you, Genji. You should understand why this is so.”

Hanzo was suddenly very aware that this was perhaps not a conversation he was supposed to be hearing.

Then again, they were discussing it openly. So really the fault was on them.

He continued listening.

“You would be compromised on this mission. The UN would veto it quicker than you could say Blackwatch,” Morrison affirmed, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

“I haven’t seen him in years. I haven’t heard from him in years.” Genji sounded distressed.

“Nor have any of us, _sadiqi._ ”

“If he’s contacting us now he must really need help, you remember him, you know what he’s like, he’s too--”

Morrison was too busy stomping around Genji like a ruffled rooster to interject. It was Ana’s hand squeezing his shoulder that stopped his harried stream of words. “Proud. Yes dear, I am aware. We trained him.”

All the tension streamed from Genji as he visibly deflated.

“He could be in trouble.”

“There’s no one suited for the job, kid.” Morrison shrugged, seating himself at a table. Hanzo was very much aware the man’s eyes were boring into his back even as he busied himself grabbing eggs out and cracking them into a bowl.

There was silence for a moment before Genji’s tone turned amused. “Actually, I think I know someone.”

Hanzo pointedly didn’t turn around as silence hung heavy.

“He knows the area as well as I do. Better even. He stayed when I came here, he knows the language, he’s familiar with the people.”

Morrison sounded even more long-suffering than usual. “You can’t be serious.”

Genji continued listing off points. “He would work well alongside his fighting style. He’s been with Overwatch for some time now. He’s had no prior affiliation with Blackwatch.”

“Oh good god, you’re serious.”

The fizzle of eggs hitting the frying pan was akin to the dropping of a pin in a silent room. Painfully loud.

Eventually, Ana said, “I like it.”

“You...Oh no, not you Ana. Don’t team up against me.”

There was a smile in her voice when she replied. “Someone has to. It’s what Gabriel would have wanted.”

Morrison groaned loudly. “The UN will never go for this.”

“It is worth the chance,” Ana responded softly.

Hanzo dragged a spatula through the eggs, whipping them into something akin to scrambled.

“Did I ever tell you about Jesse McCree, brother?” Genji spoke up.

Hanzo wondered what he did to deserve unsolicited conversation before breakfast.

Possibly the attempted murder of his brother.

Nonetheless something about hearing that name piqued his interest. A few short months ago Hanzo had held a secret obsession with the name that was Jesse McCree.

“You did not.” Hanzo was ex-Yakuza. He didn’t come out the other side of that life not knowing if someone was talking about him. “Eggs?”

No one answered his offer of food, but Genji continued talking. “He was a good friend to me once. And a valued member of this organisation.”

“Of Blackwatch.” Hanzo nodded.

He could almost _hear_ the seated three exchanging glances.

“I suppose people do talk of him,” Ana said wryly.

Hanzo plated the eggs before him and turned to them. “Shall we cut to the point where you tell me of the mission you wish to send me on?”

Genji laughed. “Joel Morricone.”

Hanzo couldn’t say that’s what he expected to hear. “Pardon?”

“He’s been leaking information to us on a bubble of omnic smugglers. According to the reports he’s been feeding to Winston, he’s working among them.”

Ana nodded along. “Wires are buzzing about a man in the system working as an off-the-books vigilante.”

“The UN wants him for Overwatch. They’re aware, however, that it is Jesse McCree, and Jesse is a man talented at avoiding being pinned down.”

Ana laughed. “We have our own training to thank for that.”

“So the UN gets angry, they can’t have him so therefore he’s a threat.”

Ana nodded sagely along with Genji. “Imagine the government to be like a group of children. If they can’t have the toy no one can have the toy. The toy must be put in prison.”

Hanzo frowned. “They can do that?”

“Vigilantism is a dangerous line of work, messy too. They could put him away for public property damages alone.”

“So why haven’t they?”

Genji snorted behind his visor. “They can’t catch him.”

“He’s elusive.”

Hanzo recalled the pictures of a man stood atop a hypertrain in a stetson.

“Elusive.” he deadpanned with a raised brow.

“But listen to this.” Ana leaned over and passed him her tablet. Hanzo tapped the triangular play button on it and held it in front of him.

It started with white static but built into the crackle of a man’s voice. “--know you folk are still doin’ good work. I bit off a little more than I can chew here. Thought it was just a mercantile group I could dismantle from the inside.” A low whistle. “Yeah. I was wrong, mighty wrong. Too many of ‘em here to face alone n’ I don’t know a thing ‘bout Hanamura ‘cept that Genji was born here. Could do with his help. I’m forwarding you info. Think of it as a favour for a favour. You’re gonna want to see this.”

The line cut out and the screen cropped up with various pictures of the inside of a warehouse stuffed absolutely full with omnic parts and unlicensed weaponry.

Hanzo scowled at the screen. “They’re stocked for war.”

Ana nodded gravely. “Furthermore, we can’t simply send the team in. This is one of many warehouses strewn across the globe. This takes the kind of hand Blackwatch once offered.”

Morrison had been quiet, so much so that Hanzo had almost forgotten he was there until he stood up and shook his head. “Blackwatch was a liability.”

“Blackwatch was as much to thank for ending the omnic crisis as Overwatch.”

Both looked torn, as if they weren’t sure that what they were saying was absolutely true. Strange, coming from veteran soldiers Hanzo had only seen demonstrate the utmost conviction to their causes. It seemed Blackwatch was a touchy topic.

“The point is,” Genji interrupted, “he needs a partner.”

All three of them stopped to stare at Hanzo expectantly.

His breakfast was going cold.

He wanted to go back to bed.

Instead he found himself in a formal board meeting with several of the most powerful people in the world alongside Winston, who explained why he was a good candidate to send in in aid of Jesse McCree and why the man was worth defending.

“We acknowledge the potential threat of this underground uprising.” A middle-aged woman said from the comfort of her penthouse suite. A woman who certainly had never seen death or suffered more than a papercut in her life. “So here is our compromise: You work alongside the rogue ex-Blackwatch agent until you unveil the location of these warehouses.”

Winston sighed in relief. “Yes, we can trust McCree, he is--”

“And then you bring Jesse McCree in to face legal justice.”

Winston’s jaw dropped as he spluttered to regain his train of thought. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and shook his head, looking to Hanzo as if expecting him to defend the man he’d never met.

The other board members murmured their assent as Winston continued to look torn.  
“This is our final offer to Overwatch. Otherwise, we will choose to send in formal agents to dispose of the known whereabouts of the warehouses and take matters into our own hands.”

“That just wouldn’t work though, this is our best chance at--”

“Final offer.”

Winston grunted and rumbled in annoyance. “Fine. We accept your offer.”

 

They left the board meeting as Winston continued to shake his head angrily. Hanzo had remained quiet for the entirety. He couldn’t deny that he’d only accepted the position on his brother’s quiet ‘ _Please,_ ’ whispered in Japanese as he’d handed the tablet back to Ana and said the task was a little above his pay grade.

“You can not tell anyone about this.” Winston turned to him suddenly.

That sounded ridiculous.

“Why?”

“A lot of the members of this organisation still consider themselves Jesse McCree’s friend. Myself included. But if his information is correct the lives of thousands of civilians could be in danger.” He grit his teeth angrily. “The needs of the many outweighs the needs of the few.”

Hanzo finished the reference. “Or the one.”

“Y-You’ve seen Star Trek?”

“My father was a fan.”

“I _love_ Star Trek. We must organise a meeting to watch Star Trek together.”

“After I arrest Jesse McCree?”

“After you--” Winston sighed loudly, as if remembering the original reason for their meeting. “This is a mess.”

Hanzo couldn’t disagree.

 

* * *

 

 

When Hanzo joined Overwatch, he didn’t join with the intention of making friends.

He made them nonetheless.

When Hanzo joined Overwatch, it wasn’t with the intent to seek redemption.

But he found it nonetheless.

When Hanzo was sent on a mission as a double agent alongside the same Jesse McCree who had haunted his computer’s search history for several months, he didn’t expect to come in contact with the most maddeningly reckless, irritating individual in the world.

It seemed Hanzo’s life just loved throwing him curveballs.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Tsol](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorQui/pseuds/DoctorQui) and [Mango](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentMango/pseuds/MalevolentMango) for being awesome betas.  
> This turned into a long ass intro chapter but g'damn here we go~  
> Here's my [Tumblr](http://mccrees-left-arm.tumblr.com/) feel free to hmu


	2. Chapter 2

“Be careful, alright?” Hana said to him, punching him in the arm just as Lúcio grappled him into a hug. Technically it was his first solo mission. He wasn’t entirely sure Genji would be so happy about his leaving if he knew the exact terms under which he was going. 

 

Arresting Jesse McCree. 

 

As in, the actual urban legend, the whispered name around the base, friend to all, possibly shoots lasers from his eyes, Jesse McCree. 

 

In the grand scheme of things, he should have been able to sense that the mission was never going to be as simple as ‘Here is your objective: capture it.’

“I will be fine, Hana.” And he would be, hopefully. 

 

She didn’t seem convinced. 

 

Having people worry for him was something Hanzo was certain he’d never grow accustomed to. He couldn’t say that it wasn’t a good feeling though. He couldn’t say it didn’t make the fighting worth it.

 

“Just ensure Lúcio continues training while I am gone. And before you ask,” he sighed, “Yes you are welcome to whatever food I have left in the kitchen.”

 

“Score.” She grinned and followed it through with another fond clap on the arm.

 

Lena was flying the jet to Hanamura. It was only he and Jack Morrison aboard in the crew quarters. Hanzo was not a small talk kind of man. Neither was Morrison. It just left the journey in uncomfortable silence as the man tapped away on a comm device. 

 

“Jesse was always tenacious,” Jack said after forty minutes of staunch silence. 

 

“It seems Overwatch holds a theme to its members, then.” Hanzo stared pointedly at the man who had appeared out of the blue in response to the recall. Followed by Ana Amari. Both of whom Hanzo had been reliably informed were dead. 

 

Then again, that was during the early stages of Hanzo’s membership and before he was really sure of the norms. At the time he just assumed members coming back from the dead to be a common novelty. Hana had laughed at that until Hanzo pointed out that it had happened not once but twice. She’d soon conceded with a--

 

Jack chuckled ruefully. “I suppose you’re right.”  

 

Yes, that.

 

He put his comm to the side and leaned in as if he was about to break out into pre-mission peptalk. The unamused look on Hanzo’s face deterred him enough that he sat back with a sigh. 

 

“Winston won’t have sugar-coated it. You know this one’s gonna be tough.”

 

“I am aware.”

 

“He also informed me about your catch.”

 

They continued to make awkward eye contact. Morrison was supremely good at making Hanzo feel more put on the spot than usual. He was assured that many of the team felt the same way about the former strike commander; Jack just had a way of making you feel like you should be cleaning the pots or shining shoes or fighting the social justice system. 

 

“Listen, Shima--Hanzo, listen Hanzo. Don’t concern yourself with the latter half of your assignment until after the worst of it is taken care of. Your number one priority is locating the whereabouts of those warehouses. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Good man.”

 

The sudden urge to repeat ‘Good man’ in a mocking voice was wildly indicative that he was spending far too much time with a teenage girl. 

 

“You will have several communication devices hidden among your travel belongings. The secondary main device can be found within the lining of your satchel. If you are at all compromised or in need of emergency evac hit the green button on it. A team will be dispatched immediately.”

 

“Understood.”

 

Again, Morrison looked like he wanted to give a pep talk or perhaps regale Hanzo with a story of Blackwatch era. Balking, Hanzo tore his eyes away from the man and looked for an escape.

 

“How close are we to touch down, Lena?” he asked the air around him. 

 

Lena’s voice immediately responded over the loudspeaker. “ _ Not long now, love. Twenty minutes tops _ ?”

 

Would it be too dramatic of him to grab a chute and jump from the craft? 

 

Jack cracked his knuckles and Hanzo felt the story coming on even before the man leaned forward and opened his mouth. “Back in my day…”

 

The twenty minutes it took to land lasted twenty lifetimes. 

 

Hanzo couldn’t say it was strange touching ground in Hanamura again. The hyper-train away from the jet landing was a relative therapy before the mountains speckling the skylines came into view and the familiar gleaming city gilded its way across the hyper-train’s path. The imperishable cherry blossoms a splotching of pink in an otherwise regular colour scheme for a city; steel silvers and the long stretch of blue sky. 

 

But no, it wasn’t strange. His annual visits assured he was never too estranged from his hometown. This was the first time in a decade that he hadn’t visited on the date of his brother’s supposed death. Hanzo had decided to skip this year and take tea with his ‘dead’ brother instead. 

 

Again with life and tossing him curveballs. 

 

“We can escort you no further than the station before you arrive at Hanamura. Anymore than that would arouse suspicion,” Jack said. 

 

In truth, Hanzo was glad for the silent moments to ponder things over. A sort of therapy. Train journeys had a way of forcing you into thoughts you otherwise ducked from and Hana had always encouraged taking any anxiety by the horns.

 

“ _ This seat taken? _ ” A voice asked in accented Japanese, stirring him from his reverie.

 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Hanzo replied without looking. 

 

The stranger sat beside him and Hanzo turned to berate him, only to be met by the gaze of a man he recognised only from pictures on the internet.

 

“McCree?”

 

The man raised a hand to quiet him and shook his head. “Not in public. Call me Morricone.”

 

Because of course he would change his name but continue wearing the stetson and serape ensemble the bounty posters recognised him for. Hanzo already had a feeling it wouldn’t be the first time he’d question how McCree remained incognito. 

 

“Morricone,” he deadpanned. “ _ Joel _ Morricone. At your service.” 

 

“Hanzo.” 

 

He grinned something wicked and tipped his hat. “You changed up your look since the last Overwatch Agents pictures.”

 

Hanzo had no idea how to reply to that. “...Yes?”

 

McCree sighed wistfully, amusement colouring his voice. “Didn’t reckon they’d send Genji.”

 

Hanzo, of course, rose to the bait. “Would you have preferred my brother?” 

 

“Would I have rather’d ‘em send out a friend than the guy that almost killed said friend? Yeah, boy, a little.” McCree didn’t meet his gaze.

 

Hanzo squinted at him before turning to look out the window at the approaching city.  “What you requested is an agent. What you received is an agent.”

 

He’d never garnered an opinion of McCree from internet articles and fan videos. He’d only just wished to gather an idea of the man. Perhaps a taste of why so many among their team spoke of him in awed whispers and reverent tones.

 

He assured himself quietly that the vigilante knew nothing of him or his background, had no right to have an opinion either. It’d been a long time coming since he’d felt anything but grim resignation when it came to his past regarding Genji. Through the pocket of his canvas jacket he could feel the scuffed, pink guide book. Somewhere in there he was sure there’d be a clue from Hana on what she felt about it. 

 

He was sure Hana would want him to defend himself. Genji too. The world was a strange place that he found his mood easing quickly under the self-assurance that a 19-year-old girl and the brother he’d almost killed would want him to be okay. 

 

“Yeah, well.” McCree huffed, settling back into his chair. “Any backup is better than no backup.”

 

Hanzo felt his blood boil anew. “I am not ‘any backup’.”

 

“Sure, friend.” 

 

“I am Hanzo Shimada.”

 

“A’right.”

 

He hadn’t expected Jesse McCree to be so infuriating a human being. 

 

He glanced back around only to see the man was still looking steadfastly away, hat tipped low over his eyes. He looked tired and irritated. His mouth was set in the same stern way Hanzo recognised in fellow Overwatch members after too many long days overseas fighting omnics and being exposed to violence. 

 

  1. _don't be mean to people either. they're trying their best most of the time even if they have it coming. my dad always told me that 'you have to be the bigger person.'_



 

He bit his tongue and looked back out the window. 

 

“I was informed the agreed meeting place was a hotel within Hanamura.” 

 

He couldn’t see him, eyes still trained on the scenery whipping by, but he could almost hear the grin. “The job ain’t in Hanamura.”

 

“...What?” 

 

“I said the job ain’t in Hanamura. You hearing impaired?” 

 

Hanzo bit down again on the urge to snap at the man who knew less than nothing about him, but was already emanating the aura that he’d got Hanzo figured in less than a few words. “I heard what you said.”

 

“Overwatch ain’t as good for stealth missions anymore, too much red tape. An’ their stomping grounds are too big. No Blackwatch means no one knows what they’re doin’ anymore. Y’all shoot guns and look good for the press but are louder than a jackhammer at night.”

 

Hanzo wished McCree would slip back into stilted Japanese just so he could at least pretend to understand what the hell the man was saying.

 

“The man at the back of the train is with the FBI. The one with the newspaper.” McCree laughed. “Hell, like somethin’ out a movie.”

 

Hanzo could barely believe what he was hearing. 

 

“Too much at stake on this here mission. He can hear what I’m sayin’ cause they got noise amplifying devices in their ears set on a mic here.” 

 

Hanzo denied the urge to flinch back when McCree leaned forward and tapped his jacket. 

 

He glanced behind his seat, true to what McCree had said there was a man sat with a newspaper looking concerned. Hanzo wasn’t the one being pursued by the powers behind Overwatch, he held no issue with them following his mission, and yet something about the situation set him on edge. 

 

“If he can hear you, why are you saying all of this aloud?” 

 

“Cause when the train stops in a second, you and I are takin’ a quick detour out an’ he needs to know I ain’t kidnapped you.”

 

“What?”

 

“Did you really not hear me or--”

 

Hanzo blinked. “I am faced with a scenario that garners a ‘what’.”

 

McCree smirked from beneath the brim of his hat. “Genji’s smart as a whip, guess I figured wrong when I imagined you’d be the same.”

 

  1. _don't be mean to people either, they're trying their best most of the time and even if they have it coming. my dad always told me that 'you have to be the bigger person.'_



 

He took a deep breath and repeated it like a mantra in his head. Sure, he could snap at McCree and establish quickly who could bite worse than their bark, but that wasn’t conducive to the mission.

 

He reminded himself that McCree looked like he’d been sleeping rough for one too many nights. The man also seemed completely unable to hold his eye contact for more than a handful of seconds at a time.

 

“Y’still up for comin’? When I said I ain’t gonna kidnap you I meant it. What this just means is we’re shaking your tails. You ain’t gonna have immediate backup if you need it. You’re gonna just have to trust I ain’t gonna screw you over.”

 

It was a lot to ask, but McCree seemed to know it. He kept fidgeting restlessly with the frays on his serape. Hanzo felt an almost irresistible urge to smack the man over the head with something blunt--but he also remembered the videos from months ago. The ones of McCree jumping in front of bullets for strangers simply because they were civilians. Or wrestling with hostiles because it was the right thing to do. Something Hanzo couldn’t argue was that Jesse McCree seemed to have a strong internal moral compass that steadfastly pointed at ‘the right thing to do’. 

 

“Just tell me what you need.” 

 

It was almost as if the man hadn’t expected that response but quickly shook it from his system to replace it with a cocky grin. 

 

“Sit tight n’ look pretty. I’ll be right with ya. Keep your luggage close, we’ll scan it for bugs once we’re off.”

 

Hanzo had sudden flashbacks to blurry cellphone videos of the Houston hyper-train as he watched McCree get up and swagger down the aisle. 

 

In the words of Lena Oxton:  _ bollocks _ .

 

It took only a couple of minutes. Hanzo tried not to openly watch the man with the newspaper muttering hurriedly into a phone and pointedly not looking in his direction. He understood his pain. The only difference was that Hanzo had no phone to anxiously chatter into. Although he was sure if he did he certainly would; possibly to Genji and possibly along the lines of ‘ _ I assumed Jesse McCree was not out of his mind _ ’ to which Genji would possibly laugh and say ‘ _ This is payback for almost murdering me _ .’

 

The electric fizzing of the train’s intercom had him looking around. It crackled to life as the sound of a man grunting in pain and a large thump hit the receiver followed by the sounds of someone picking the mic up and bringing it to their mouth. Then the clearing of a throat with just enough of an accent that Hanzo immediately knew who it was. 

 

He dropped his head into his hands.

 

“ _ Ladies and gentlemen, _ ” stilted Japanese with a thick American drawl spoke up, “ _ this is your driver doing the talking. We are taking a quick stop. Please and thank you. _ ” 

 

Hanzo groaned into his hands even as the train pulled to a screeching halt and the passengers started chattering among themselves interestedly. 

 

“ _ Also the train is about to,” _ he interjected in English, pulling the mic slightly away from his face, “Dang, what’s the word? Oh...” He slipped back into Japanese. “ _ Explode _ .” 

 

The interested chatter built quickly into panicked noises, ascending steadily to men and women screeching in fear as they started pouring towards the emergency exits. The man with the newspaper disappeared into the sudden crowd of people clambering desperately to escape. 

 

Hanzo could only get up in time to be swept into the fray of it, clutching at his satchel and Stormbow hidden in a guitar case at his shoulder. His feet could only carry him out the side exit with the rest of the passengers. 

 

He realised the train had stopped just outside of a town he recognised as Takayama. The place had been hit hard by the Omnic Crisis a few decades ago and had never quite recovered from its losses. The streets were busy and people were standing about, staring in confusion at the stopped hypertrain and the people pouring out of it. 

 

Hanzo continued walking, unsure what else to do. He knew McCree’s goal was for them to shake the government officials at their backs, but he was no good to the cowboy disappeared into a foreign town. 

 

He saw a flash of red at the corner of his eye and turned just in time to see the man in question handing his serape and hat to a complete stranger along with a thick wad of money. The stranger donned the serape and hat, walking in the opposite direction as McCree joined Hanzo’s side and sauntered ahead. 

 

“Little faster darlin’, don’t want ‘em spottin’ us ‘fore we’re out of sight.” The man looked uncomfortable out of his hat, like he wasn’t used to being so exposed.

 

“You scared a lot of people.” Hanzo frowned as the sounds of people panicking and children crying still drifted around behind them. McCree continued to walk steadfastly, leading them into an alley between a building made of old stone and another of shattered steel.

 

He chuckled grimly. “That I did.”

 

Was this something to be proud of? Hanzo wasn’t sure. It had lended them distraction but at the price of public panic. A part of him wondered if it may have just been easier to let them continue tailing. 

 

Looking again at McCree he remembered that the man worked on a smug need for flair. It was becoming more and more apparent that the cowboy boasted flamboyance in every drop and turn.

 

They continued walking down the secluded alleyway until it opened up into a yard. In the middle sat a beat-up car. 

 

“A’ight hold on now.” Jesse reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small rectangular device. “If you got a pacemaker or some kinda prosthetic workin’ on power you might wanna tell me now.”

 

Hanzo eyed the device suspiciously before relenting, “My legs.”

 

“Your legs?”

 

“My lower legs are prosthetics. Are you hearing impaired?” he deadpanned before continuing, “What is that?”

 

“Scrambler I--uh-- _ acquired _ from an old friend. It’ll clear your bugs. Might jus’ mess with your prosthetics for a little while. They’re big enough that it _ probably _ won’t bother ‘em too bad.” McCree’s started tapping at the device.

  
“... _ Probably _ ?--” Before he could say anymore a sharp pain jolted through him, akin to that of an electric shock and he yelped, jumping off the ground a little in surprise. 

 

McCree also hissed around a laugh, shaking out his metal hand. “Ayup, that’ll do it.” 

 

There it was again; that smug grin.

 

Hanzo gritted his teeth and glared even as he bent over to rub at the spots that connected the prosthetics to his legs, tingling like static. “That was foolish. You should not have done that.”

 

Jesse shrugged widely, lifting his hands up in a shabby feign of innocence. “Got the job done.”

 

_ But at what price?  _ he wanted to bark at McCree. Instead, he pulled open the back door of the antiquated car and placed his belongings on the back seats before he himself clambered into the front, crossing his arms over his chest. McCree soon followed suit, jumping into the driver’s seat. 

 

There was an awkward tension floating around that Hanzo knew was drifting off of him in waves. The downward tug of McCree’s lips suggested the man wanted to say something, and Hanzo thought back to Jack Morrison on the jet and how much he’d rather listen to one of the man’s long winded stories on fighting crime than any excuse from the mouth of Jesse McCree.

 

The engine started up and along with it McCree started talking. “Y’know, I feel like we might be gettin’ off on the wrong foot.”

 

“So far you have demonstrated nothing but a callous disregard for self preservation and the wellbeing of others.” He turned to look at McCree directly, who kept his eyes trained on the road ahead of them as he shifted gears and started moving the vehicle. “Perhaps this is the foot we are going to continue to stand on.” 

 

McCree rolled his eyes, reaching into the back of the car and pulling out a stetson, this one far more worn than the last, with golden bullets framing the rim. He pushed it down atop his head. “I saw vids of you in action, fella. When I let Winston know I was in a spot of trouble I figured they might send you. At least you were one of ‘em. Knew they wouldn’t send an old team member, too much tangled up in what went down a few years back.”

 

McCree had watched videos of him? An interesting reverse.

 

“Climbin’ up buildings, throwin’ yourself off’a them on the chance you’d get a hit in. Makin’ like ground support even though you’re an archer. Puttin’ teammates in danger to offer opportunities at distraction to drop several hostiles at a time.” McCree listed these things alongside the tapping of his thumb at the steering wheel. 

 

Hanzo grimaced and stared resolutely in the opposite direction, pressing down the window to offer himself a breath of air as they once again fell into uncomfortable silence. To a degree everything that had just come from McCree’s mouth was entirely true. At least to what he was a year ago.

  
“That… is not what I do anymore.” 

 

McCree laughed as if the idea of a man changing was a foreign concept, but otherwise said no more on the matter. Leaving Hanzo to drop his hands to his pockets and recount in his head the phrases that had sounded with him the hardest when Hana first gave him the book. 

 

  1. _if you were to get hurt a lot of people would be very sad. I know you don’t believe it sometimes. But it’s true._



 

And the one that came after it. 

 

  1. _read 15 again_



 

And he had. Again and again until his heart ached and his hands shook and he’d drank himself into a stupor wondering why anyone would take the effort to teach him anything but what he already thought he knew. 

 

He spared a glance in McCree’s direction and recognised the dark circles under his eyes and feral gleam to them.

 

Recognised it as something that had greeted Hanzo in the mirror for almost a decade. 

His thought process immediately split into two things: (1) Maybe Jesse McCree could use the Guidebook on How to Not be Weird; (2) Hanzo disliked the man so intensely that the idea of him going anywhere near Hana made him want to toss McCree from the car and back up over him for good measure. 

 

“S’gonna be a long journey. If you need anythin’ jus’ let me know,” McCree eventually said as Hanzo schooled his expression into less of an outward scowl. 

 

He nodded his head once but otherwise watched the scenery whipping by, staring dumbly out the window and letting the cool wind brush his hand and face. 

 

“Where  _ are _ we going?” Hanzo asked on the second hour mark. 

 

“We’re catchin’ a flight overseas. I know a guy.”

 

“A guy?”

 

“Yeah, skips people over borders. He’s a good guy, saved a lotta asses durin’ the Omnic Crisis. Refugees who couldn’t afford passports to get the hell out of dodge. He owes me a lotta favours.”

 

It took three hours in total to arrive at an old-style air strip, where a rustic jet sat on the tarmac. The thing looked almost military, a similar model to the ones Overwatch used, just a little smaller. Jesse got out of the car to stride gladly over to an older man sat stationary in the hangar, cap pulled over his face and cigarette hanging between his lips. Smoke drifted up from under the brim of it even as he looked up and grinned widely.

  
“Jesse McCree! You sly dog.” 

 

“Tanaka- _ san _ .” He grasped the man’s hand and shook it, the both of them exchanging grins and laughter. Hanzo hung back a little, pulling his satchel and guitar case out from the car and standing aside. 

 

“You are probably not here for a round of cards, hm?” the man said in deeply accented English. 

 

Jesse’s grin stretched wider even as charisma pooled from him. “And give you another opportunity to kick my ass? I ain’t stupid.” 

 

“So you are here for  _ Shigemi _ .”

 

“A pretty thing she is too, figured I’d ring you up on them favours. Need a ride to the states.”

 

America? Jesse McCree was dragging him on the 11 hour flight to  _ America _ ? Hanzo fought down the urge to announce his being done with the mission as much as the idea of getting back in the car and driving away was tempting. 

 

“An’ before ya say it.” Jesse raised his hands in time with Tanaka’s wrinkled face crinkling further in unsurety, “this’ll clear your record. It’s a big deal, friend. It ain’t somethin’ I can let lie. Me n’ my partner here gotta get to New Mexico.”

 

Tanaka’s eyes landed on him and then back on McCree before he sighed and started walking towards the jet. “Jesse McCree letting a man’s debts lie? It must be serious.”

 

“That it is.” 

 

“And what monsters are you fighting this time?” 

 

Jesse gestured Hanzo with them even as he barked a laugh. “The kind that ain’t gonna be around much longer if I have my say ‘bout it.” 

 

“As is your way.” Tanaka shook his head as he opened up the jet and ushered them inside. As they stood in the cockpit together, Tanaka shook his head and turned to Hanzo, offering a small bow.

 

Hanzo bowed in turn to Tanaka’s “ _ Where are my manners? Greetings, my name is Kaito Tanaka _ .”

 

“ _ And I am Hanzo. _ ” 

 

“I have not seen Jesse with a partner in many years.”

 

Hanzo glanced at McCree, who looked away and paced towards the back of the jet, finding a seat there and falling into it, kicking his feet up and pulling his hat down. 

 

“It is a special circumstance,” Hanzo agreed.

 

“I am glad,” Tanaka breathed as he walked to the front of the jet and sat in the pilot’s chair before continuing, “‘Jesse’ I say to him, ‘Jesse one of these days someone is going to shoot you in the back because you do not let anyone watch it--’” 

 

“I think that’s enough o’ that, dont ya?” Jesse piped up suddenly and they both turned to him in surprise. His hat was pulled up again and he was glaring daggers in their direction.

 

Tanaka just laughed it off and started flipping switches. Hanzo half wished McCree hadn’t spoken up. He was interested in his building theories surrounding the cowboy being proven true. 

 

When faced with either sitting down beside the complete stranger or Jesse McCree, he paced to the other side of the jet and sat down opposite McCree. 

 

After take off Jesse mumbled, face hidden half under his hat again, “S’gonna be a mighty long flight. If you can catch some shut eye you might wanna. I’ll wake ya up if anythin’ happens.”

 

And though Hanzo didn’t know he felt tired, it was almost as if the opportunity to rest coaxed him into unconsciousness. The hand in his pocket grasped firmly around the rabbit-shaped keyring attached to the guidebook in there. With the ghost tones of a southern drawl taunting the back of his mind, he drifted into a reluctant sleep. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Mango](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentMango) and [Elaine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vashoth) for being tired, tired betas.  
> Godbless.  
> Also a couple of commenters in the past have asked if they can reach me on discord, the answer is yes! Feel free to DM me at McCree's Left Arm#2032  
> Here's my [Tumblr](http://mccrees-left-arm.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

A voice echoed through his mind, mockingly condescending in a way it never had been.

“I know you tell yourself that your brother disobeyed the clan, and that you had to kill him to maintain order. That it was your duty.”

Hanzo wanted to reach out to the darkness, touch it, goad it into something less hostile.

‘ _I do. And perhaps it was, perhaps it was not. Regardless I am left adrift.’_ That is what he wanted to say, what left his lips instead was, “You know nothing of what happened!”

No.

A figure appeared before him, a young man with a carefree smile and a shock of green hair atop his unmarred head.

A part of him despised it. Another part of him was crushed under the weight of what could have been.

The droplets fell from his fingers, coloured crimson even against the black.

A tired “ _Anija_ , please,” and then he was faced with the masked visage of a ghost holding its sword steady against his throat. “I will not grant you the death you wish for. You still have purpose in this life, brother.”

His voice was choked up beyond any feasible ability to say anything.

“Hanzo?”

“Perhaps I am a fool to think there is still hope for you, but I do. Think on that, brother.”

 _“Hanzo?_ ”

Hanzo’s eyes snapped open even as he lashed out with an arm at the hand clutching his shoulder. It didn’t help that it was metal, its hard exterior reminding him of broken things and echoing voices.

“Woah now, easy.” That voice was foreign enough in its tone that all former association with Genji was washed away in its wake. Through bleary eyes Hanzo assessed what was happening, finding himself half-slumped in a dingy crew quarter of the jet. The seat upon which he was leaning was warm at his back and, by the sound of engines, the jet continued to fly steadily on.

A pair of eyes almost hidden under fallen brown hair were inspecting him quietly. “Bad dream?”

Hanzo grunted, pushing the man’s prosthetic hand away from him and standing from his seat, pacing over to his satchel to pull out a water bottle.

“S’alright, y’know. It ain’t the first time I’ve seen someone have a nightmare. An’ with your past I ‘spect you get ‘em a lot.”

Hanzo uncapped the bottle even as McCree spoke, taking gulps and making an attempt at steadying his breathing.

“There wasn’t a soul in Overwatch back in the day who could sleep a restful night. It’s fitting that the newbies can’t either.”

The statement kindled a memory in the foreground of Hanzo’s thoughts. Of finding Hana in the rec room at three am for the second night in a row. He’d asked her why she constantly stayed awake so late and she’d shrugged. ‘Nightmares make it kinda hard to sleep, y’know? Get yourself tired enough and you don’t get them as bad.’ He’d sat up with her. She’d grumbled about that but otherwise let him.

She was right though. They were a little less common if you were tired enough to sink into sleep through exhaustion.

“I would not say it was a cause for celebration,” Hanzo eventually mumbled before passing his water bottle to McCree and sitting back down.

He rubbed a hand over his face. It had been a long time since that particular dream had pulled at him, and it bothered him even more that McCree had witnessed it. To top it off, he was drenched in sweat and fairly sure he hadn’t even managed to pass more than 4 hours or so.

On the plus side, McCree did not seem inclined to regale him with stories of lost youth or ‘the good old days’.

Hanzo took another few moments to steady himself and reconnect with reality before looking up and realising McCree had yet to drink from the bottle. He was instead staring at the floor as if it may open up beneath him and swallow them both down into the ocean below.

Hanzo knew a troubled mind when he saw one.

  1. _sometimes you've just got to pretend you can stand people. the worst that happens is you need to bear with it for a little bit._



He didn’t _know_ McCree. Not a single thing about him. Sure, the man had proven himself to be a reckless fool, but there were not many within Overwatch who hadn’t done the same.

“What is on your mind?”

McCree glanced up, almost dropping the hat he was holding between fidgeting fingers as he did. His brow crinkled in suspicion.

Hanzo definitely recognised that look. He’d seen it in his own reflection one too many times.

“What’s it to you?”

He imagined Hana would shrug and say she loved knowing secrets. Lúcio would explain that he could help if he knew.

Hanzo, however, was a man of balance. “You roused me just now. I owe you an ear if nothing else.”

McCree cocked a brow but otherwise kept his expression neutral. It took a few minutes of the man studying Hanzo’s face for tells of motive before sighing and shaking his head.  
“Just guess I wondered how the old gang was doin’, y’know.”

“I was told you were in contact with Winston--”

“Under an alias, sure. I ain’t exactly able to say, ‘So, how ya doin’ friend?’ as I duck omnic shots.” McCree bit out a laugh that was a little too frayed around the edges.

“You have been alone this entire time?”

McCree’s demeanour instantly hardened defensively. “That ain’t what I’m saying.”

Hanzo wrote a note in his head: ‘ _Jesse McCree will not talk to you about himself._ ’

“Winston is on a workout routine Athena implemented to combat any weight he has managed to gain through eating too much peanut butter.”

The laugh that pulled from Jesse was genuine, all deep-pitched and hearty. And something in the once-easy tone of it had the slightest trace of a smile pulling at Hanzo’s own expression.

McCree continued laughing even through his next words. “Oh, dang. Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“Reinhardt offered to aid him in it, but he uses peanut butter as a successful-routine reward.”

The laughter that had tapered off into amused chuckling was bolstered again and McCree bent over to slap a hand on his knee and snort loudly.

Continuing, Hanzo stroked his chin as if in deep thought. “Angela has pointed out the method of reward isn’t conducive to the end goal, but Winston put his foot down and insisted that if not for the reward he would not do it at all.”

McCree held his stomach as he continued to chortle along with Hanzo’s words. It felt nice to hear the cowboy laugh. As if he was privy to some little-known secret. He didn’t know how else to explain it in his own head.

After a couple of minutes the man took a shuddering breath inwards and wiped the corners of his eyes with his flesh hand.

The silence that eased down over them after that wasn’t quite as uncomfortable.

 

* * *

 

 

They landed in the middle of the desert, near enough. Peering out of the ship through the grimy windows, Hanzo could just about tell that it was night out.

“We have arrived,” Kaito announced to the two men as they stood. Hanzo shrugged his satchel over his shoulder and stood awkwardly off to the side as McCree strode over and took the pilot’s hand in his.

“Thank ya kindly for this. We’d be stuck in a mighty sticky situation without you.” He smiled as Tanaka returned the grin and shrugged easily. “If it has paid my debts, then I am simply returning a favour.”

McCree strode from the vessel and Hanzo made to follow him after a muttered thanks to Tanaka, only to have the man catch his eye and nod him over. Hanzo could see McCree stood at the entrance feigning disinterest as Hanzo approached the old man.

“ _Watch out for yourself out there, Hanzo. Though he is good man, he has spent a long time alone. You must understand that he no longer knows the meaning of shared danger._ ”

Hanzo frowned. This was all awfully dramatic. A sliver of him was even marginally affronted that the man would assume Hanzo did not know how to handle himself. But the genuine concern in the stranger’s eyes had him backtracking on a snide reply and settling on a stiff bow. “Thank you.”

Tanaka nodded once more and Hanzo turned on his heel and left the jet alongside McCree. It had been a long time since he’d been anywhere even remotely desert-like, and the reminder that the stretch of sand and sun-baked mountains did not equate to heat once the sun lowered beyond the horizon was a cold one. He shuddered against it as he pulled his jacket tightly around him.

The two of them stepped back to watch the jet take off and move across the sky.

“A’ight then,” McCree announced after a second, beginning his strides down the empty highway and leaving Hanzo stood staring at the night above. “Y’coming archer?”

Hanzo shot a withering glare at the man’s back as he didn’t wait for an answer and continued his path forward.

“Where, precisely, are we going?”

“To a safehouse just outside of Deadlock territory. I got the place set up nice.”

Hanzo jogged a little to catch up with the man, attention caught by the distant yips and yowls of coyotes.

“Is this where you have been living?”

Hanzo noticed the scowl McCree tried not to openly pull. He noticed it in the sudden creasing around his eyes and the cigarillo he pulled from his pocket.

He found himself remembering the note he’d made in his own head earlier before he’d drifted asleep, about McCree’s reticence regarding himself. It reminded him of a particular note Hana had outlined in luminescent pink highlighter.

  1. _no one can help you if you don't let them know anything's wrong_



Not that Hanzo was concerned with McCree past professionality regarding the mission. It just was not lost on him how many of Hana’s points lined up with the cowboy.

He wondered, if Jesse McCree _had_ joined upon the recall, if Hana would have written up a guide for him too. Perhaps even traded out Hanzo’s supposed lost cause for McCree’s.

He wondered even more at whether Hana would have been able to get through the cowboy’s dense skull.

He relented when he remembered that she got through to his.

“I’ve been here and there,” McCree answered after he lit up the cigar and took a deep drag.

Forcibly dragged back to the present topic, Hanzo pulled a face. “Vague.”

McCree really did scowl in response to that, biting down on the tip of the cigarillo and rolling his eyes. “Bein’ vague keeps a man alive.”

He scoffed. “If I wanted to kill you I would not have taken on this mission.”

“That right? ‘Cause if you wanted to kill me there don’t seem a better way to go about doin’ it than takin’ a mission with me. Could even make it look like an accident.”

Now the man was being purposefully obtuse. Hanzo could see _that_ in the poorly hidden smirk that had replaced the even more poorly hidden scowl.

Hanzo tried not to growl in frustration. He needed an excuse to leave the man’s company. Even if it was just to lock himself in a bathroom and wash the building travel-grime from his body. “How far away is this safe house?”

McCree’s smirk widened insufferably. “Six miles, _darlin’_.”

 

  1. _sometimes you've just got to pretend you can stand people. the worst that happens is you need to bear with it for a little bit._



 

 

* * *

 

 

By the time their weary feet carried them to a small town off the highway, the sun had began to colour the sky a vivid pink, hues of orange interweaving their way through the clouds like ghostly tendrils of a promised hot morning.

They’d both trudged the distance in respective silence. By the time the house that was silhouetted against the horizon drew close enough to make out the brick detailing and grimy windows, Hanzo’s hands were shaking with cold and the joints where his legs connected with his prosthetics throbbed painfully.

The inside of the house wasn’t much better. Dust coated everything in a thick layer and motes tumbled about in the air around them, threatening to coax Hanzo into a sneeze.

Hanzo’s suspicions that McCree might live there were dashed. The abandoned feel of the place wasn’t something that could be faked.

“Home sweet home,” McCree chimed as he threw his pack down and collapsed onto the musty bed. The act threw dust up into the air in great clouds and had Hanzo wrinkling his nose in disgust. McCree, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind, tipping his hat low over his face and toeing his boots off with practised ease.

“I am going to bathe,” Hanzo stated.

“Knock yourself out, doll.”

 

Much like the rest of the safehouse, the shower wasn’t anything fancy. Similarly covered in dirt and aged with disuse, it at least turned on when Hanzo pressed a button and spun a dial. The thing was ancient but that fact was soon forgiven when it started spraying steaming hot water from its head and spattering his hands lightly with warm moisture. The heat did wonders for easing the irritation from his bones.

By the time he was adequately clean and free from the red dust that coated everything in New Mexico, he pulled his pants back on in lieu of a clean towel and let his hair lie dripping around his shoulders.

McCree’s voice piped up before he stepped back into their shared room.

“We’ll wait ‘til it’s dark again before headin’ out.” Hanzo rounded the corner, a hand on his hip and the other dragging through the wet hair around his shoulders. “Folks round here aren’t real fond--” Jesse’s eyes met Hanzo’s and he gaped as if Hanzo was an alien. “….of….me.” he trailed off.

Suddenly incredibly self aware, Hanzo scowled in confusion, looking behind him and half expecting to see the Phantom of Christmas Past. There was nothing there but a dusty closet and dresser.

McCree was still staring at him.

“What is the matter?”

Jesse blinked a couple of times, staring at Hanzo’s bare torso from underneath his hat before sitting up hurriedly and grabbing a towel from the chair next to him. One he seemed to have brought along in his pack.

“Uh, nothin’, doll.  Y’just scrub up nice is all.”

Hanzo’s brows shot up.

“...Thank you?”

“Yer’ welcome-- I...Not sayin’ you didn’t look good before.”

“McCree.”  
“‘Cause ya did. The piercings? Oh boy howdy--”

“ _McCree_.”

Jesse paused. “Yeah, sugar?”

“Stop.”

“Right. Will do.”

He paced over to McCree and took the offered towel before walking from the room with a smirk. If an exasperated one.

Hana’s book didn’t have any excerpts on cowboys prone to wild mood swings and awkward flirting. He picked up the jacket he’d slung on a chair earlier and pulled the guidebook from the pocket, the pink binding fraying with use.

He brushed a thumb over the charm.

“You can stab a person with that,” Hana had said.

If it had been Hanzo as he is now it would have made him laugh and shake his head in fond exasperation, but Hanzo as he was then had glowered at the thing and turned it over in his hand.

Hana had grabbed it and demonstrated hooking a finger between the ears and jabbing forward with it. “See? The ears could do some damage.”

Hanzo hadn’t seen the usefulness in that. “Why?” he’d asked around a sour expression.

Hana shrugged and sat next to him, drumming her fingers over the table and poking at the (potentially lethal) pink rabbit.

“Not everyone my age knows how to kick butt and it’s not like we’re always going to be there to protect people. So maybe this will help them? I just want girls to be able to protect themselves.” She laughed, brushing hair from her eyes and dropping her chin into a hand. “You probably think it’s lame.”

There was a long, thoughtful pause before Hanzo finally picked up the charm and mimicked the stabbing motion she’d made, nodding his head approvingly at it.

“I don’t,” Hanzo had said, “I don’t think it is lame at all. I think it is very smart.”

Hana Song had never once sought his approval like he’d sought hers, but her eyes had lit up nonetheless.

She’d added an extra rule after that:

  1. _you're nicer than you give yourself credit for <3_



“What’re you smilin’ at?” A voice roused him from his thoughts and he turned to see that McCree had followed him into the dingy kitchen.

He hurriedly tucked the guidebook into his pants pocket, but not before keen eyes had locked onto it.

McCree barked a laugh. “Didn’t know pink was your colour.”

Hanzo shot a glare at him. “Perhaps it is.”

That shut the cowboy up momentarily as he shrugged appraisingly. “Hell doll, you probably suit anythin’.”

Hanzo made a face and Jesse raised his hands in faux surrender.

“A’ight, a’ight.” He leaned back against the counter and knocked the refrigerator open with a foot to reveal a miraculously stocked interior. He grabbed a beer from within and bit the cap off like some sort of heathen.

“Y’ready to hear the plan?”

“My eyes are up here, McCree,” Hanzo deadpanned.

Jesse tore his gaze away from Hanzo’s pecs and took a long swig of beer around a grin that screamed mischief worse than anything he’d faced from the Overwatch team. Hanzo stood his ground against it with a raised chin and squared shoulders. “Tell me of this ‘plan’ of yours, gunslinger.”

McCree’s grin widened and he leaned in with a cocked brow.

“You’re goin’ in undercover. An’ I’ll have your back…”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops sorry for the late upload  
> Thanks to [Mango](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentMango) for drunk beta-ing <3


	4. Chapter 4

The plan was a mess. The plan was complete anarchy condensed into a handful of words that had Hanzo wondering how in high heaven Jesse McCree had survived 37 years of life without blowing himself (and possibly the rest of the world) up. 

“You got that, partner?” the man asked in that ridiculous accent. Hanzo had formerly thought those only existed in western movies long since left to the backs of shelves to gather dust.

“Yes,” Hanzo had answered, because answering no suggested he did not understand. Which he did perfectly: ‘Get in, distract a large group of possibly angered mercenaries whilst I steal in and grab the coordinates to the locations of the other bases.’ 

_ That _ was his big plan.

Yes, yes Hanzo understood. Because he did understand. The same way a parent understands a toddler’s ‘Papa I’m gonna put this entire battery into my mouth.’ 

It did not, however, mean the plan was a good one. Or that he condoned it.

Even despite the mental imagery of McCree stuffing his mouth with batteries being both a fitting and an amusing one.

“This is gonna be easy as pie, darlin’.”

“Hanzo.”

“This is gonna be easy as pie, darlin’ Hanzo.”

Hanzo covered his face with a hand just to puff a vexed breath into it and hide his irritation momentarily. 

The sun set low beyond the horizon and the blistering heat of the beat-up town in the distance wore off with it. The sounds of revving bikes and the chatter of far off people living their lives soon tapered off into haphazard silence and night hung low over the desert like a protective veil. 

It offered some comfort to Hanzo, whose safety relied on shadows and stealth. Jesse, on the other hand, had looked at home in the sun, like he was made for it. Hanzo had no real qualms with daylight. Hanamura summers could grow to intense warmth and the Overwatch base in Gibraltar had him acclimating further to a constant shroud of heat. But New Mexico was choking with it, and the cool blast of water from the ancient shower Hanzo had near enough claimed as his own was one of the few places of solace from its suffocating grasp. 

In a reverse, the nights were cold. 

Not freezing per se, but when faced with a day of heat the sudden lack of it had even a chilled room feeling below zero. 

“The place we’re headed is just inside borders of Deadlock territory--an’ I mean, most of this place is Deadlock territory. Ain’t much really changed, not even since Gabe--” 

Hanzo looked up at McCree’s sudden silence. 

The man frowned to himself and opened his mouth to say more, but he seemed to have lost any path of conversation. 

Hanzo took pity. “Since Blackwatch cleared it briefly.” 

McCree nodded mutely, still frowning. 

Hanzo couldn’t help but let the irritation seep from his frame as he watched McCree’s sudden struggle to recapture his faltering bravado. 

 

  1. _I get that talking can be hard sometimes so you don’t need to all the time. Just like...lemme know? I’m pretty good at talking._



 

Hanzo lacked Hana’s girlish charm, but he supposed he was at least somewhat less reticent than he used to be. 

“The warehouse is on the outskirts. Is a Deadlock threat prevalent or are the people we are meeting with affiliated with the gang directly?”

Hanzo didn’t miss the brief flicker of relief in McCree’s features before he took the metaphorical helping hand and continued his ‘plan’ with a renewed enthusiasm.

“Nah, the guys we’re dealin’ with? Don’t reckon Deadlock knows a thing ‘bout them really. They probably paid ‘em off though. N’ I ain’t talkin’ chump change here. I’m thinking real money. Enough for Deadlock to conveniently forget names and faces...If you catch my drift?” 

“The Omnic Smugglers are paying off Deadlock to throw any potential leads authorities have on them.”   
“You got it. Deadlock ain’t dumb, but some of the members could throw ‘emselves on the ground n’ miss. Dollar is a sure way to get’ ‘em to shut their traps n’ remember their place.” 

“So they  _ are _ stupid?”

Jesse cocked a sudden grin at Hanzo. “Can’t all be peachy keen.” 

Hanzo let it slide, much like half of what came out of Jesse McCree’s mouth. 

“I got a name on a guy: Beckett. He’s our lead. Loyalty only goes as far as the weight of your pockets with these folks. Lucky for me I had a little more than they had to offer.”

Hanzo didn’t like any of this. “It seems a risk.”

“That it is.”

Was this McCree playing another one of those ridiculous games with Hanzo? In which he did or said something and then watched from under the brim of his hat with eyes that told more stories than his mouth could ever keep up with? A gaze with a cunning intelligence that had Hanzo remembering the way Genji was in his younger days. Frivolous with charm and arrogance. Like everything he ever wanted dropped into his lap with the right clever word or pointed smile.

McCree was looking at Hanzo now like a fox might watch a hare. Mapping its movements, jotting its actions to memory. 

Hanzo vaguely wondered if he should feel threatened by it. He only felt perturbed. 

“I see now why you wanted to shake the tails on us.”

McCree tilted his head just so in curiosity.

“The UN would never have allowed an agent to be put in so much danger.”

Jesse’s eyes continued to track him even as Hanzo stood and holstered a pistol at his thigh. Silently watched him as he shrugged on the lightweight coat that wouldn’t restrict his movement should he need to fight. “You knew that and so you shook them. You knew the risks this mission would entail.” 

Still Jesse remained silent. It seemed the man understood Hanzo had more to say. 

So he carried on. “If this mission is to backfire, as it so likely might, I would be faced with a minor armada of hostiles with solely you for backup.” 

“Right--”

Hanzo raised his hand to quiet him. “And though I do not doubt your ability, I do doubt our combined capability to escape both a pocket of smugglers  _ and _ the Deadlock biker gang unscathed.” 

Hanzo stooped to pick up another pistol from a counter and holstered it to his other thigh, tucking his coat over it as he continued on, “But of course you know this. And though I question now your irrational recklessness, I have seen enough footage of you to recognise you have not yet put another person in direct line of sights.”

Hanzo was making a call he wasn’t entirely sure was true. But something in him whispered incessantly in his ear that the puzzle pieces did not fit unless he was correct. “So tell me, Jesse McCree: how is it you plan on ensuring my perfect safety whilst putting yourself directly in harm’s way?”

Jesse’s mouth had fallen open in surprise and the cunning edge of ‘I know something you don’t know’ had left the expression on his face. McCree frowned in sudden suspicion.

“You some sorta shrink?” 

Hanzo barked a sharp laugh. He couldn’t wait to tell Hana that one. He shook his head and folded his arms across his chest as he waited for McCree to explain himself.   
“Place is rigged to blow.”

There it was.

“They would recognise you if they saw you?”

“Sure would.” 

“So you have manufactured an explosive distraction.” 

It was Jesse’s turn to laugh. “Ain’t that a pretty way of putting it.”

Hanzo knew McCree’s thinking now. Hanzo would be playing the part of Yakuza interested in buying weaponry and McCree would probably have his informant make the explosions appear to be a manufacturing fault, allowing Hanzo an opportunity to duck out of the dealings as soon as McCree acquired the data he needed. It was...a good idea. Or rather it would be, if McCree wasn’t playing the potential martyr for it. 

“It is a foolish idea,” he bit out, “It deposits you in the thick of the fray behind enemy lines.  _ Alone _ .”

“Aw, y’worried ‘bout little ol’ me?” McCree pushed a hand to his own chest and grinned widely, mockingly. “I’m touched.”

Hanzo resisted the urge to pistol whip him (or let him continue with his plan). 

“I suggest an alternative.”

“Oh?”

“I suggest you allow me to say my piece to the dealers. Let me convince them I am to be trusted.”

McCree laughed again, something meaner than before. “You couldn’t charm your way outta an open barrel.” 

Hanzo balled his hands into fists, silently indignant that the man would presume to know so much about him. “Perhaps I  _ should _ allow you to do this.”

“Yeah, perhaps you should.” 

“And it will be up to me to announce your death to the members of Overwatch.”

Jesse’s grin dropped from his face quicker than a bullet. It was replaced by a sneer, which was then replaced by indecision. 

McCree opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. 

Hanzo stood expectantly waiting for a response. He’d said all he was going to on the matter.

Something in McCree seemed to physically slot into place, and Hanzo could swear he saw the moment the other’s heels dug into the ground and he grit his teeth against the choice. “It’s my way or the highway, fella.” 

Hanzo closed his eyes briefly in annoyance and let out a small sigh. 

“Fine.”

McCree nodded once and got up. He pulled Peacekeeper from its holster, examining the gun and flicking out its barrel to check it was fully loaded before re-holstering and pulling his formerly discarded boots on. Hanzo stood back and watched him.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it too much. Gotta say I wasn’t half expecting much. Just give me some time to get to the meet point before you call for your ride outta dodge.”

“Sorry, what?”

“It’ll probably take ‘em some time to arrive so you’re good to stay here as long as you want. Hide the key under the mat outside.” Jesse winked and started walking. 

Hanzo realised then that the man expected Hanzo to leave. That Hanzo had picked ‘the highway’ over taking McCree’s final word on the mission. More than that, the man seemed perfectly content with Hanzo up and leaving. 

“I am not going anywhere.”

Jesse paused and then frowned as if the statement had made no sense whatsoever. 

In fact he looked so confused Hanzo had to backtrack in his own head to ensure that he hadn’t said it in Japanese. 

“McCree, I accept your plan. I am not leaving,” he reiterated slowly.

McCree was still frowning, but Hanzo was at least sure that he’d said it in English this time. This wasn’t the first time Jesse had expected Hanzo to turn away. The first time it happened Hanzo had brushed it off, but it seemed to be shifting into a repeating pattern of ugly colours. The look of wary disbelief touching McCree’s shadowed eyes had him remembering a distinctly hot day in Gibraltar. 

 

Hanzo was drunk, as he had been for so many of his early Overwatch days. He’d chosen a particularly distant vantage point to watch the ocean waves crash in vain against the steadfast cliff face. The empty bottle of sake rolled from his side and clinked softly against the foot of D.Va’s mech. She’d been watching him for some time, but had just a few minutes ago flown her mech up to the topmost of the tower in order to stand with him. He hadn’t said anything when she’d flown to him, nor when she climbed out and sat atop it. 

They’d both silently continued looking off to the distant sun with only the squawking of gulls and the far off blaring of ship horns to fill the silence.

Hana Song, who everyone loved and adored, whose visage was painted on great banners adorning children’s arcades and foreign military parades. Who had starred in no less than two movies and held a small fortune she committed the lion’s share of to charities across the globe. 

Hana Song, who sat there with Hanzo Shimada. A lonely, sad man who had long since forgotten how to laugh and love and live as the rest of them did. He felt a stronger connection to the damn mech than he did the girl sat atop it. To work on auto-pilot, to feel nothing but cold. 

He wished he had more sake. 

“So…” Hana announced as Hanzo leaned forward and looked over the edge. “Are you done sulking yet?” 

“No,” Hanzo answered curtly. 

“Okay.” Hana nodded and continued looking out to the sea. 

They ended up sat there together for a further twenty minutes before Hanzo cracked and turned to her. “Why are you here?”

She splayed out like a starfish against the top of the pink mech and dangled her head off the edge of it to grin at him upside down. “Overwatch figured I’d be a good candidate because of my work with--”

“No. I mean  _ here _ .” Hanzo gestured to himself. “Right here.” 

Hana frowned but turned away to instead stare up at the gulls circling overhead. “I guess because…” She lifted a hand to the sky. “You remind me of someone.” 

Hanzo followed the direction of her hand to the birds painted black against the backdrop of blue.    
“And I wish someone had been there to tell that person that it was okay. And that they had friends and that it was okay to be sad and weird.” She dropped her hand back down to her mech. “That it was alright to be scared. That they didn’t need to handle it alone.” 

“I am not…” Hanzo trailed off. What was he to say? That he was not scared? That he was not alone or upset? He did not think himself capable of such a lie. He stood up and paced to the far wall of the building, leaning against it and inhaling deeply. It had been a long time since someone had spoken to him as a fellow human and not a weapon or an enemy. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like. He’d spent so long thinking the anger and the hatred was an ingrained truth of life that he didn’t think he was capable of anything else. That it was all he knew how to be. 

He heard Hana hop down from atop her mech and walk over to him. 

“Can I...give you something?” 

Hanzo turned to her, lips drawn tight in confusion. But he nodded anyway, waiting as she delved into the deep pockets of her jacket. 

What she pulled out was a small, pink book. Sparkling with glitter in the sunlight. A rabbit keychain dangled from its spine and emblazoned on the front read:

Hana Song’s Guide on How to Not be Weird

Hesitantly he took it from her grasp and opened it, written in bright pink the first page went as followed: 

  1. _First of all you’re not actually weird. Well...yeah you are you’re really weird but like not weird weird you’re just...sad I think. And when you’re sad it makes you weird. But I wasn’t about to name this thing Hana Song’s Guide on How to Not be Sad because that’s just a major bummer. You have no friends and you’re sad. So yeah. I want to help and I really hope you’ll carry on letting me because it’s gonna be super easy for you to just ignore this. I hope you don’t though. So yeah...guide number one: Let me be your friend._



He blinked and looked up at her. 

For a moment, he was met with a shock of green hair and an easy smile matched with a, ‘Anija _ bet you can’t beat my high score.’  _

He blinked again and Hana stood before him, wringing her hands in front of her. She shrugged, “So...Yeah.” She laughed a little before huffing and squaring her shoulders.

Hanzo probably should have realised he was tearing up silently, but he made a note to blame it on the sake. 

He nodded mutely. 

Once.

Twice.

Hana realised that Hanzo had been literally rendered speechless and stepped forward, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle and pressing her forehead to his shoulder.

“Let’s be friends, okay?”

“Yes…” Hanzo managed to choke out. “Okay.” 

“You still with me, compadre?” McCree said, snapping his fingers in front of Hanzo’s face. Hanzo nodded and stepped back, feeling the guidebook in his pocket as he did.

“You spaced out for a second there.” 

It was a good memory. Although the day had haunted Hanzo for a long time afterwards as he admonished himself on his decision, several times coming close to returning the guidebook with an apology. He never had. Soon enough a confused memory shifted into a fond one, and he was a better man for it. 

McCree’s train of thought seemed now to be more interested with what was pitching Hanzo into introversive thinking. 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Hanzo cocked a brow at Jesse. “...I suppose…” He huffed a small, ironic laugh. “I suppose you remind me of someone.”

McCree seemed intrigued by that. “A handsome fella? Dashing charm and rakish wit?” 

“Oh yes, all of those things,” Hanzo deadpanned, shooting McCree a stare before sighing and allowing himself a private smile.

“But mostly a stubborn ass.”

McCree wasn’t impressed but Hanzo didn’t mind. They had a goal to work towards.

 

\--

 

The warehouse was indeed nestled away in a small crook of desert a couple of miles away from the safehouse. The place was surrounded by towering rock faces and acres of nothing but wizened shrubs and orange sand. 

Together they crouched some distance away, exchanging glances through a pair of beat up binoculars. 

“They’re expecting you, just stay sharp n’ look like you know what you’re doin’.” 

Hanzo shot him a glance. “Under what name?”

McCree grinned something wicked. “Lee Van Cleef.” 

Hanzo could swear he recognised the name, but regardless it had him raising his brows. “So let us reiterate my role in this: a Yakuza agent named  _ Lee Van Cleef _ ? Not Fujiwara Hiroto or,” Hanzo fumbled to pick another generic name, “Azuma Itaru.”

“Nope.”

“Lee Van Cleef.”

McCree’s grin widened imperceptibly faced with Hanzo’s bemusement. “Right.”

Hanzo slapped a hand over his face and groaned into it softly. 

“You are not subtle.”

“These fellas can smell subtle a mile off. Sometimes the best way to play under the radar is to walk right into it.” 

“You are not subtle, but you  _ are _ ridiculous.” 

“Leave the sweet talkin’ ‘til after the mission.”

His teammates had often let him know that he was one of the more irritable members of the organisation. 

“Your fire often reminds me of...” Ana had said once but never finished the sentence, instead tapering off to sip at her tea with him and shake it from her mind, launching into a story about Fareeha’s youth. 

He  _ knew _ he could be hard to handle as a human being at times. The simple fact of acknowledging that made it all a little easier for the people around him; those that cared for his welfare but sometimes wished to wring his neck. Particularly when he was especially strict in training with the younger members or dictated a certain day was just not a  _ people _ day for him. 

However. 

He was willing to bet the last, charred vestiges of his claim to the Shimada Empire that even Lúcio Correia dos Santos would find himself tempted to swiftly soccer kick McCree off the edge of a gorge. 

And laugh whilst doing it. 

Possibly reward himself with ice cream after the deed was done. 

McCree nudged his shoulder with an elbow and Hanzo rolled his eyes in anticipation for whatever ludicrous remark the cowboy might come out with next.

“Yer’ gonna have to double back, sweetheart.”

Hanzo shot him a confused glare and the pre-fight grin that had been dancing about McCree’s eyes grew brighter as he explained. 

“Lee Van Cleef: Yakuza Agent Extraordinaire don’t crawl out of a nearby bush to appear at business transactions.” 

And though the way he phrased it was once again utterly ridiculous, Hanzo found himself conceding McCree’s point. He made to leave, only to stop a few paces back and turn around to the ex-Blackwatch member.

He crouched there, eyes trained on the base in the distance with that mad gleam still lingering in his gaze. The man was garbed in combat gear underneath the red serape that under any other circumstances would stick out like a sore thumb, but in the orange desert night he cast the illusion of a stetson-wearing boulder. 

“Will you be alright?” he asked, even despite knowing the man would shrug it off with a quick quip and a mindless shrug of his shoulders. 

McCree turned and the bluster faded just a little. His smile turned into something softer. “Peachy keen.” 

And with that he turned back around, leaving Hanzo’s gaze to linger a little too long on his back before traipsing away towards their safe house and taking the long journey around via the ingoing roads.

 

“You are Van Cleef, yes?” A man greeted him at the forefront of the warehouse. The place was huge up close. A veritable fortress crawling with armed men wielding unlicensed rifles. The towering metal of the building cast long shadows against the gorge and the great, expansive rock face at its back. Backed up against the gorge like that meant their escape would have to be through the front or nothing. Also due to the sprawling flatlands, their best bet would be hijacking a vehicle. There were plenty around and Hanzo knew enough after a life on the run that commandeering a motor wouldn’t be difficult. Under the right circumstances, of course. 

This plan leaned a little too heavily on happenstance for Hanzo’s liking.

“Yes,” Hanzo responded simply, keeping his chin upturned and shoulders squared, channelling a little more swagger than usual into his gait as he strolled up. The man was built heavy and at least a foot taller than Hanzo, flanked at his sides by two other men. Both of whom were wielding rifles with both hands across their chests. 

“You are here to see a shipment, yes?” Apparently no need for names or exchanged pleasantries.

“Shipment 008-411,” Hanzo confirmed, remembering the sequence of numbers from McCree, who had repeated it to him on their way to scope out the base. 

“Good.” The man nodded to his left and the guard nodded back, turning tail and striding swiftly into the warehouse, shouting commands to a worker on the ground as he did. 

“He will bring them out shortly,” the tall man grunted, lips forming a grim line against his square head as he approached Hanzo further. 

Hanzo looked the man in the eye as the other squared him up, scanning his person for weaponry. 

“An impressive operation you are running here,” Hanzo mused, leaning back on his heels and painting an expression of awe on his face. 

The square-headed man eased up on his staring and nodded with him. “That it is.”

Hanzo wondered if he could pull any casual information from the man. 

He remembered transactions like this. He’d often accompanied his father on such deals. Sojiro had been a clever man with even more clever words, and it was not a trait entirely lost on Hanzo, though in his youth he’d often envied Genji’s easy mimicking of it. The right tone in the right place, the shaking of hands and the private winks that had gained his brother a reputation quickly for all the wrong reasons. Sojiro had been so very proud of Genji. 

But his mother? She knew what she wanted and how to get it. She did not see the reason for pretty words when the job could so easily be carried out with a swift kick and well-placed punch. 

“A neighbouring clan has expressed an interest in your organisation,” Hanzo spoke up finally. Square-head stared him down for a couple of minutes before relenting with a nod of his thick neck.   
“I ain’t surprised. Yours ain’t the first Yakuza that’ve come all the way out here either.”

Hanzo was treading a dangerous path. He could feel it in his bones. “To barter trade with a closer setup would risk it being traced back. America seemed the smarter option to my betters.”

“Yeah, the other fellas said ‘bout the same. News reports started banging on about a clan war overseas so I figured they put the shipments to good use if you catch my meaning.” He laughed heartily and the man at his shoulder joined in. 

As if ‘laughing with the maniacal boss’ had been written in the job description.  

As if the mindless deaths of civilians getting caught in territory wars was something to laugh at. 

Hanzo tried to grant them a faux smile, but he knew full well it possibly looked more like a glare. “Indeed,” Hanzo eventually bit out, sorry he’d said anything in the first place. 

His temper flared beneath the surface of his skin and the dragons shifted restlessly with it. 

Soon enough the man from before came back, wheeling an open crate on a trolley towards them. 

“Here’s the shipment,” he announced as he pushed it before Hanzo. Unable to help himself, he immediately leaned forward and surveyed the crate. 

The thing was absolutely packed with military grade weaponry with illegal enhancements, ranging from tweaked particle cannons to biotic grenades. 

“The series of Pulse Rifles in there aren’t even on the market yet,” Square-head informed him with a tight grin. It seemed the man hadn’t entirely overlooked Hanzo’s unease. 

“This seems in order,” Hanzo lied. Falling back on the memories of his father dealing with such men.

“Very good, the payment as I discussed with one of your men is 3 million credits. We’ve allowed a discount on good faith of your continued patronage.” Square-head grinned with teeth a little too sharp for Hanzo’s liking. 

When the man kept up the grin every hair on the back of Hanzo’s neck stood on end. 

Where was McCree? The signal should have happened by now. 

“Transferred directly into accounts?” Hanzo continued to feign. 

He hadn’t noticed it before, too busy staring at the weaponry, but a lot of the men had disappeared from view. 

Even the sound of machinery seemed to have faded to the background. 

It was as if you could hear a pin drop in the sudden silence. 

A pin drop.

_ Click. _

Or a man flicking the safety from his rifle.

Hanzo had his pistol pulled from its holster and ducked behind the crate the very second one of the men raised his rifle and fired it in his direction.

“Did you think we were stupid?” Square-head said from behind the crate as another man leapt to Hanzo’s side, only to be greeted by a bullet to the chest. The attacker cried out in shock as he fell back to the floor and clutched at the wound. Hanzo flew to the side and got a leg up on the second man before he could get the upper hand. His fist connected with the man’s jaw, followed by Hanzo’s knee to his gut before the hostile had a chance to even flinch from the punch. 

Winded, the man fell and Hanzo put a bullet in him. 

When he raised his head, he was met with the barrel of a gun and dived back before Square-head could do the same to him as Hanzo had to his men. A bullet grazed his face as it whipped by, leaving a thin slice across his cheek. 

He could feel the warm trickle of blood trailing down his jaw as he fell back further. It throbbed steadily with pain that never quite made it to the surface against the rush of adrenaline pumping through him.

There were more men coming from the woodwork and he was stuck in a factory full of weapons. 

He could  _ maybe _ make it to the vehicles he’d seen not far back. He could _ maybe _ get there without being riddled with holes. 

Or blown to smithereens. 

There was still no sign of McCree. 

“Beckett, the goddamn rat. We put ‘im down soon as we knew. Fucker told us you had some stupid ass cowboy sounding name, that you used to be Blackwatch. Boss wants to see you himself. Sure as hell didn’t specify alive though.” 

Hanzo paused just so as he grabbed for his pistol and watched men advance on him. He didn’t have much time. But if they assumed  _ he _ was McCree, it still meant that Jesse had a chance to blow the charges and create a diversion enough to grab information on other base locations. Hanzo’s own life remaining intact, however, seemed less and less likely. 

He wasn’t about to lay down and accept that. 

He eyed up the crate filled with weaponry in front of him and the men advancing, training guns on him.

The far-off sound of explosions echoed like a sudden series of deafening gunshots against the walls of the warehouse. 

Hanzo took his opportunity to dive forward. 

  1. _Don’t do stupid things on the field that you know might put you in danger. It’s not like you have a mech._ Neoneun baboya.



He apologised quickly to Hana in his head as he grabbed the first thing his hands came into contact with within the crate. He pulled the heavy pulse rifle from its interior and levelled it in front of him. 

Square-head’s eyes widened comically as he turned around from the explosions towards the back of the base and re-made eye contact with Hanzo, just as he flipped a switch and jammed his hand on the secondary fire trigger. 

Helix rockets flew from the rifle with such force it sent Hanzo flying back under the recoil.

The rockets themselves smashed into square-head with considerable force, sending the other man flying in the opposite direction. 

Hanzo couldn’t help but feel satisfied even as he landed back on his ass with a thud and the air left his body, his back connecting painfully with the concrete. 

He made a mental note to ask Morrison how the man controlled the recoil of the rockets if he ever survived this. 

He looked up to see no less than five men surrounding him at a distance, all guns trained on him. 

He guessed he wouldn’t. Still, he refused to die unarmed on the floor. He reached for a pistol just as a voice sounded before him:

“It’s high noon.”

McCree stood there, revolver raised and one eye closed. 

“Jesse  _ don’t _ \--” Hanzo made to shout out as the five surrounding him all turned on the new figure. 

“ _ Draw _ ,” McCree said and for a second Hanzo could swear his eye gleamed blood red in the low light beneath his hat. 

He flinched as five gunshots rang out in quicktime, dropping the corresponding men in time like sacks. They hit the ground and Hanzo watched as McCree faltered a little, a hand pressed to his side. 

Hanzo felt himself moving, felt himself getting up and jogging towards McCree, draping the man’s arm around his shoulders and helping them both move. He could feel it as if it were happening on autopilot. 

“What  _ was _ that?” Hanzo eventually bit out as they continued moving forwards. McCree leaned on him a little more but laughed deeply in his chest.

“Ain’t no one told you ‘bout deadeye? ‘M hurt. Figured it was a nifty enough trick.” He laughed again and it sounded wet. Hanzo’s stomach dropped.

“Have you been shot?” 

“Was a touch too close to the blast, got smacked by somethin’ pretty good. But it ain’t no bullet.” 

Hanzo was unsure whether or not he should be relieved by that, so he chose instead to continue walking. He was going to kill McCree himself when they got back to the safehouse. He just needed to ensure the cowboy survived the journey there.

McCree shot a man that strayed a little too close to them as they reached a heavy vehicle outside of the warehouse. Hanzo could now see great plumes of black smoke billowing into the air from it. 

“We better make ourselves scarce pretty sharpish, darlin’. This place is a bomb waitin’ to happen n’ I just lit the fuse.” 

It didn’t take long for Hanzo to break them into the car and slam down the gas, speeding them out of the base’s radius. 

For the first minute neither of them said anything. Hanzo’s fingers drummed the wheel.

McCree finally spoke up. “You can say it.” 

Hanzo would have regardless of permission. “I told you so.” 

McCree huffed but otherwise didn’t argue, pressing his hand tighter to his side. Hanzo’s anger flared again and he growled lowly at the man. “You almost got yourself killed. Too close to the blast radius, an unreliable source, shooting those men? It was all a recipe for disaster and it is a miracle we are alive now to discuss it.”

Hanzo knew the wound must be bad for McCree to incline his head and not answer. The silence stretched on.

“Do you really have nothing to say for yourself?” Hanzo’s nervous energy won out over the silence. 

“Yeah. Sure, one thing:” A series of beeps sounded and Hanzo looked down to see that McCree had been fiddling with a small data pad the entire time. It lit up purple before displaying: _ Access Granted _ . “Cracked it.” 

Hanzo pulled the vehicle over as they both gazed at a symbol on the screen.

Winston had shown it to them all during a meeting once with a dire expression and somber words. 

A grin that had pulled at McCree’s lips dropped immediately.

“Aw hell.” 

The Talon insignia stared at them menacingly from the data pad. 

Jesse sighed. “Looks like this just got a whole lotta interesting.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. Here's an extra long chapter to apologise.   
> Thanks to [Tsol](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorQui/pseuds/DoctorQui) and [Mango](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentMango/pseuds/MalevolentMango) for betaing.   
> I have mischief and fluff planned for next chapter.  
> and here's my [Tumblr](http://mccrees-left-arm.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

They knew they ran the risk of the vehicle being tracked back to the safe house, but with McCree in no state for walking Hanzo couldn’t see any other option than dropping the cowboy off and immediately setting out into the desert. 

“I ain’t an invalid, Hanzo. Let me--”

Hanzo cut off his words by leaning over and shutting the car door, driving off before McCree could continue his griping. Hopefully the man would have the sense to shamble into the house and patch himself up to the best of his ability before Hanzo returned. 

Hanzo doubted it. Damn cowboy. Damn reckless, irresponsible fool.

He drove the car into the ramshackle town and parked it far from the safe house. With night settled around the place and a cool breeze caressing the sunbaked stone and metals of the outdated buildings, Hanzo paced quietly away from the prone vehicle. He tucked his hands into his pockets, ducking his head low as he kept to the shadows and dodged buildings that were lit up just enough to harbour unfriendly prying eyes. 

The draft sweeping through the streets provided a sweet reprieve from what had been a hot day and a warmer still evening. As it brushed through his hair and swept its way past him, he was reminded of days spent at the Watchpoint meditating atop the cliffs with the only breaks from the peace the crashing of waves against the rocks and the squawks of far off seagulls. 

His feet carried him the distance back and a part of him was glad for the respite from recent events. 

With Talon’s logo running circles in his mind and the lingering energy that came post battle, he needed the walk away from McCree to clear his head of intrusive thoughts and allow himself to hone his thinking once again into something sharp and focused. The mission had just gotten far more dangerous, and they had yet to find out if the map harboured all warehouse locations or if this quest had yet another objective to capture. 

Momentarily he let his mind drift back to the scenes of battle. Of having several guns trained on him, the black of the muzzle a daunting teaser of what could have followed. It all happened so quickly even the dragons shifting restlessly under his skin could do naught but wait for their master’s end. 

The sound of the man’s voice echoed distantly in his head followed swiftly by the sharp cracks of gunfire. 

Men falling silent to the ground as Hanzo was left spared, still breathing. 

Though McCree had recklessly endangered them both...he’d also saved Hanzo’s life. 

Hanzo frowned a little as he clenched his hands into fists to stop the sudden tremor that rippled through them. The truth of the matter was that Hanzo found himself indebted to the rugged stranger. No-- Not stranger. He could no longer refer to McCree as someone he did not know. 

He knew McCree all too well. 

Like looking in a mirror. 

The safe house loomed before him and Hanzo hesitated only momentarily before twisting the door handle and striding in. 

“Hanzo? Howdy. Damn. Ain’t gonna lie, had me worried.” Hanzo shrugged his coat off as McCree’s voice drifted in from the bedroom. Along with the smell of whiskey. “Talon...They don’t mess around. We gotta make a move out pretty sharpish. We just whacked a pretty mean wasp’s nest with a big ol’ bat.” The man laughed like the notion excited him. 

Hanzo rounded the corner into the bedroom. McCree was sat on the dusty armchair there, bottle of whiskey in hand and not a glass in sight. He took a swig from the bottle. 

“Are you drunk?” Hanzo frowned, surveying the man’s awkward angle, pointedly not putting any pressure on his injured side. 

McCree grinned a little, shaking the bottle. “Workin’ on it.” The smile slipped just slightly as he took another swallow.

“You are still hurt.” 

McCree gestured again to the bottle. “Workin’ on it.” 

Hanzo found himself suddenly torn between irritation and a worming sense of something...softer. 

He paced towards McCree and took the bottle from his hand, half surprised that McCree didn’t argue it. 

He brought the liquor to his lips and took a large gulp, swallowing it back before the foul tasting liquid had a chance to settle on his tongue. When he looked down McCree was staring at him with his brow furrowed just slightly in thought. As if he was trying to discern Hanzo’s motives and had yet to figure them out.

Hell, Hanzo wasn’t sure either. He handed the bottle back and knelt before him, settling between McCree’s thighs. 

McCree’s eyes widened slightly, “Woah now--”   
“Be quiet,” Hanzo commanded softly, pushing the serape from the man’s shoulders and beginning to tug on the straps of the combat armour covering his chest. With the serape gone, Hanzo could truly see the amount of damage the cowboy had done to himself. His entire right side was charred with tinges of black soot. Some of his shirt, in areas unprotected by the armour, was completely torn up, revealing the tiny wounds where shrapnel had cut into him. 

“I can--” McCree made a move to unhook the armour, but twisted wrong and hissed in pain. Hanzo caught the bottle of whiskey as it left McCree’s hand. 

After he stopped wincing Hanzo handed it back and continued his work through McCree’s soft ‘thank you.’ 

He dropped the chestplate to the floor and started unbuttoning the tattered shirt, deft fingers making short work of it. 

Once McCree’s torso was entirely bared, Hanzo took a second to lean back slightly and run a careful finger across the skin of the man’s side. There were ribs broken, definitely. His torso was already blackening with bruising. McCree watched motionlessly as Hanzo traced feather-soft touches against his chest and up to his neck, up to his cheek. 

They stared at each other for a second before Hanzo pulled away and both of them exhaled visibly. He took the bottle from McCree’s hand and took another gulp. 

“You are going to need a doctor.”

McCree cocked a brow. “Mighty fine verdict.” 

Hanzo barked a short laugh and shook his head. “You are also going to need to clean up some of those cuts unless you wish to run the risk of infection.” 

McCree shrugged and Hanzo shot him an exasperated glare. “Are you so careless?” 

They fell into silence for a second as McCree frowned suddenly and took a long drink. He put the bottle down to the side and met Hanzo’s eyes. “I…” He took a deep breath. “I s’pose it’s been awhile since I seen a reason not to be.”

The confession struck Hanzo like a jolt to the chest. 

He was sympathetic for a moment. 

Then he was  _ indignant _ . 

The man in the stories of Jesse McCree: Blackwatch Hero did not portray him as this. The man the older members sighed and fretted about did not recall him as a...as a...

“Coward.”

The vulnerable expression on McCree’s face shifted quickly into an indignation that matched Hanzo’s own. He stood up even despite how much it must hurt. Hanzo followed suit. 

“You don’t know a flying thing about me, bucko,” he snarled, all receptivity gone to the wind.

“I know you think yourself above those around you. I know you think yourself untouchable.” 

McCree’s eyes flashed with anger as Hanzo’s words hit home. “I ain’t catching what you’re implyin’, friend. I think you better back the hell up.”

“I am implying that you recklessly endanger yourself and it is  _ cowardice, _ not bravery.” 

McCree scowled, pushing roughly past Hanzo and limping to the door. 

“Even now you are running from hard truths. You would far rather face the barrel of a gun than your own choices.”

McCree snapped, spinning around, “ _ What  _ the _ hell  _ would you know _?  _ Why in blue blazes would you give half a damn?” 

Hanzo snarled, “Because I am describing myself!” 

Both of them fell into silence as Hanzo’s breath came a little sharper. McCree deflated as Hanzo continued on, “You saved my life, Jesse McCree. You saved my life and that is not something I will easily forget.” 

McCree remained silent, so Hanzo pushed on. “Number twenty seven.”

Jesse’s brows shot up in confusion. “What?” 

“Number twenty seven,” he continued, “says no one can help you if you don’t let them know that anything is wrong.” 

McCree looked around in confusion before turning back to Hanzo. “...I don’t follow.” 

Hanzo pulled the guide from his pocket and held it reverently between his fingers. He turned it over once, twice. Staring at it intently. He laughed suddenly. 

“I...I do not think I need this anymore.” He laughed again, faced with the expression on McCree’s face. As if Hanzo had lost his mind. 

Maybe he had. 

The moment slowed down as light reflected from the shining pink stickers attached to the gaudy little guide that, along with the people attached to it, had changed Hanzo’s life. It had never been as simple a thing as a guide book. It had always been a thought, a feeling. A gesture. One that Hanzo had never known he’d needed until a nineteen year old girl paid him a proverbial slap in the face and forced him to  _ listen _ . 

For so many years he’d been so  _ alone _ . Learning how to...not be. It had been a struggle. It would still be a struggle. Like learning to swim in deep water. The threat of drowning was always there, just below the surface. 

He thought about his brother and was struck with how the notion filled him with fondness rather than hate and dread. He thought about how, when faced by the muzzles of enemy guns, he had  _ feared _ for his life. 

Because suddenly the thought of it ending was…

Unacceptable.

Hanzo Shimada was weird. He laughed again. Perhaps he always would be. 

But he was no longer sad. 

He held the guide out, extending it to the man before him. 

The man that looked like maybe  _ once _ he knew how to smile like he meant it. Like the world wouldn’t shatter around him at any moment. 

“Jesse?” 

McCree was staring at the guide with a confused frown plastered to his face. “...I...Yeah?” 

“You are weird.” 

Jesse looked up at him seemingly surprised to be met with a gentle smile.

“You are stubborn and reckless and you are irritating.” 

McCree huffed a laugh. “Charming too.” 

He took the proffered book in careful hands. As if he knew the thing was precious. 

“Y’know pink ain’t my colour.” 

“Nor is it mine.” Hanzo laughed, watching as McCree opened the first page. 

 

  1. _First of all you’re not actually weird. Well...yeah you are you’re really weird but like not weird weird you’re just...sad I think. And when you’re sad it makes you weird. But I wasn’t about to name this thing Hana Song’s Guide on How to Not be Sad because that’s just a major bummer. You have no friends and you’re sad. So yeah. I want to help and I really hope you’ll carry on letting me because it’s gonna be super easy for you to just ignore this. I hope you don’t though. So yeah...guide number one: Let me be your friend._



 

Hanzo watched the expressions shift imperceptibly on McCree’s face, but pretended not to notice the cowboy’s hands shake slightly.

“I...I got a lotta baggage, Hanzo. I ain’t...I don’t think….” 

“You saved my life.” 

McCree looked up. “You don’t owe me a damn thing.” 

“I did not say that I did.” He lifted his chin slightly. “However, I have a good friend who would be very disappointed in me if I did not thank you accordingly.” 

Hanzo walked past McCree and picked up the bottle of whiskey as the cowboy seated himself on the bed, still skimming the pages of the book interestedly. Hanzo had half expected the man to belittle or mock them. No such thing happened. 

“There is a tip in there that states if you are to drink you should not do it alone.” Hanzo handed the bottle to McCree, who took a grateful swig. He seated himself on the floor beside him. The cowboy stopped reading occasionally to frown at Hanzo, as if he had revealed himself to be capable of turning water into wine but Hanzo pretended not to notice, letting the alcohol settle in his stomach and dim the frazzled emotions in his head and heart. 

 

It took Jesse several minutes to finish reading and the silence had settled comfortably over the both of them before he broke it with a shuddering inhale. 

“She’s really somethin’ ain’t she?” 

Hanzo smiled. “That she is.” 

He heard McCree grunt a little in discomfort as he lowered himself onto the floor next to Hanzo and pushed a hand to his side. The bottle of whiskey had far less in it than before, and Hanzo could feel the warmth spread to his cheeks and tingle in his fingers. 

He sighed. “I  _ am _ weird, ain’t I?” 

Hanzo nodded. “That you are. Frankly a danger to yourself and those around you. Perhaps you should be institutionalized--” 

McCree shoved Hanzo’s shoulder and laughed. “Alright, can it. I get the picture. But why give this to me? It sure as hell must mean something to you.” They both looked at the little pink book in McCree’s hands. 

Hanzo deliberated before answering, “Hana told me that she would have wanted someone to tell her it was okay.” He turned to face McCree even as the man leaned against him slightly. “The least I can do is extend the sentiment.”

They both mused in silence for a little while longer, interspersed only by the sloshing of the whiskey bottle. 

“I...uh...I’m pretty tied up with Talon. They ain’t too keen on me. A lotta ‘em might recognize me.” He shook his head. “You still with me?” 

Hanzo nodded once. “Yes.”

He was invested now. He would not have backed out before, though the idea may have tempted him. As it was he found himself with a personal interest in how the dishevelled cowboy’s story was to play out.

Perhaps the alcohol was to blame, but there was something about the man’s features, his way with words and the soft crinkles around his eyes that had Hanzo reeling every time he looked for too long.

Perhaps it was the cowboy’s unpredictability, his ability to keep Hanzo on his toes that had him so insatiably invested.

Hanzo felt the undeniable pull there, like something unspoken and deeper than the ocean’s depths. 

Though the man frustrated him to no end, he could turn a grin on Hanzo and Hanzo would be helpless but to comply with whatever new hairbrained scheme he had concocted. 

“Why did you not answer the recall?” Hanzo asked suddenly and Jesse turned to him, eyes sad. He frowned and opened his mouth before closing it and frowning harder. 

“That’s...a story and a half.” Jesse looked at him with parted lips and worry in his gaze. Like Hanzo would flee upon knowing the answer. 

“Is it worse than killing your own brother?”

Jesse’s eyes widened a little before he choked on a surprised laugh. “I mean--Christ almighty, Hanzo.” 

“Is it?”

Jesse took a long gulp of whiskey. The bottle would soon enough run out. “Naw. I guess it ain’t....” 

Hanzo looked down as Jesse rested a hand on his thigh. But it seemed to act as support to himself rather than anything else. He took a breath and laughed softly. “I’ll tell you someday.” 

Surprisingly, Hanzo found himself okay with the answer. 

“S’been a long time since I just talked to someone.” 

Hanzo nodded along. “It had been three years for me since I had shared a meal with someone before Genji introduced me to Overwatch.”

McCree whistled softly. “Life on the run, huh? S’not as romantic as people think.” 

“It is...difficult. Only you do not realise it until somebody points it out to you. Like a wound that does not hurt until you are aware it’s there.” Hanzo looked at Jesse pointedly and the man shook his head with a chagrined shrug. 

It was a few moments before either of them spoke again.

“Thank you,” McCree said sincerely. Hanzo turned to look at him, ready to deny the thanks, but just found himself cocking a head at McCree’s face. The open sincerity made him look so much younger, and Hanzo was very aware that Jesse was watching him with much the same interest.

They stared at each other and it was slow. Like neither of them had truly planned for it but any other outcome was never in question. 

Hanzo wasn’t sure who made the first move. 

But both pushed forward and kissed each other. 

It was soft at first and hesitant, but soon deepened into something desperate when Hanzo threaded a hand in McCree’s hair and tugged sharply. 

He twisted around and swung a leg over McCree’s lap, settling down so the other man needn’t move as much with his injured side.

“Thought you were the prettiest thing I ever saw,” McCree said between kisses. “Even on the vids.” Hanzo tightened his grip in Jesse’s hair and nipped playfully at his lip. “Couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you on that train.”

“And I thought you infuriating.” 

Jesse chuckled deep in his chest as Hanzo moved the kisses to his neck, murmuring against his skin, “I still think you are infuriating.” Jesse laughed again and pressed a hand under Hanzo’s chin, bringing his face back up to once again capture his lips. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Hanzo acknowledged that he was drunk. And had just experienced what Hana would refer to as a  _ Moment _ with Jesse. They were both emotionally compromised but he couldn’t find the strength in himself to stop. 

Particularly not when Jesse lowered his hands to grip Hanzo’s hips to encourage the slow roll of them. 

“What’re we doin’?” Jesse mumbled, even as his breath caught in his throat in response to Hanzo sucking a bruise into a spot just above his collar bone. 

It was like the question snapped him from a reverie.

He didn’t know. 

“Woah, woah now...Didn’t mean it like that,” Jesse said softly, pushing a hand to Hanzo’s cheek as the other man started to pull away. 

“We are both intoxicated and perhaps this is not the best idea.” Hanzo pressed a kiss into the palm of Jesse’s hand before standing up and pacing a couple of steps back. His cheeks were flushed with alcohol and something else. 

“We--” Hanzo sighed. “We should turn in for the night. Tomorrow we will depart early.”

McCree remained sat on the floor, looking up at him with that  _ look _ that left Hanzo wishing dearly that he could read minds. Like Jesse was studying him with intelligence far beyond what he portrayed himself to have. 

“Yeah. You’re right,” McCree agreed after a few seconds. 

Hanzo moved to leave the room but stopped short and turned around again, McCree remained sat on the floor. 

“Did you find the locations of the bases on that tablet?” 

McCree’s thoughtful expression shifted into a grin filled with promise. “Two of ‘em. Our next stop’s Dorado.  _ Cómo está tu español _ ?”

Hanzo cocked a brow. “Admittedly my Spanish could be better. It seems I will have to rely on you.” 

Jesse leaned his head back on the bed with a laugh. Hanzo lingered.

“I think I’m gonna finish the rest of the bottle. You don’t have to stick around.” 

He could almost hear Hana in his head. “ _ If you leave the cowboy alone right now I will never let you win a game with me ever again.” _

So instead of leaving, he walked back in. Even despite his better instincts urging him to just leave it be. To just call it a night. 

He extended a hand to McCree, who took it with a curious raised brow and allowed Hanzo to help him up even as he hissed in pain. 

Hanzo gestured to the bed and McCree lay down on it , shifting beneath the thin sheets and kicking off his boots. Hanzo switched the light off and lay down beside him, not quite touching but close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. 

Close enough to ensure that McCree would be alright.

“Good night, Jesse,” he mumbled into the pillows. It was a couple of seconds before the man answered. 

“Night, Han.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind words. Means the world to me. <3  
> Thanks to [Tsol](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorQui/pseuds/DoctorQui) and [Mango](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentMango/pseuds/MalevolentMango) for betaing.  
> [My Tumblr](http://mccrees-left-arm.tumblr.com/)


	6. Chapter 6

“An’ Lúcio is the one with the music, right?” Jesse’s fingers brushed through the pages of the little book as his frown furrowed deeper, turning a page on its side and twisting his mouth at it. 

“Yes, Lúcio uses a--” Hanzo cut himself off to side eye Jesse, as the man continued to bring the book closer to his face and squint at it. “What are you doing?” 

“Is this a picture a’ you?” He shoved it in front of Hanzo’s face, who batted it to the side and tried not to swerve the steering wheel in his grip in alarm. 

“I am driving.” 

He didn’t fool Jesse, who must have picked up on the amusement hidden behind his snapping. “It is ain’t it!” 

“It may be.”

“It is, it’s a picture of you sat there with drinks and the Lúcio kid.” 

Hanzo smiled a little as he continued eyeing the long stretch of road before them. 

“Song’s got talent. This ain’t bad. She ever thought about being an artist?” 

Hanzo laughed. “She is aware she is talented.” 

Jesse made to laugh with him, but the sound turned quickly into pained hissing as he pushed back into his seat and wrapped his mechanical hand around his injured side. It took a lot of willpower for Hanzo to not look away from the road. He glanced quickly with a frown. “There is bottled water in the compartment underneath your feet. Have some.” 

“Thanks,” Jesse mumbled, seemingly perturbed about the light conversation being marred by his own pain. 

Hanzo dug in his memory. “Thirteen? Fourteen?” 

Jesse got his hint and flipped through the book. “Thirteen. It’s a’ight to ask for healing.” The ensuing chuckle was grim as he uncapped some water and took a long drink. “Fine, I get it compadre, we need a doctor. But I know a guy--”

“No more of your ‘guys’. We are having a Biotic Emitter sent in for you.” 

Jesse huffed a breath out, looking disgruntled and uneasy. 

“Thirty.” 

Jesse flipped through the book again. “‘I’m...nicer than I give myself credit for? Loveheart?” 

Hanzo cringed. “Thirty one then.”

“Sometimes--” Jesse frowned at the book and closed it. “Har har, wise guy.” 

“Read it.” 

The man frowned but continued, “Sometimes you just have to trust your team.” 

Hanzo nodded along. “The  _ whole _ thing, McCree.”

“Sometimes you just have to trust your team. _ Numb skull _ .” 

Hanzo knew his smile was smug as he continued eyeing the nearing horizon. The road was otherwise empty, just a long stretch of nothing on their way to Dorado. It had been a while since there had been any need for Hanzo to be behind the wheel of a car. He’d missed the sensation of switching off of autopilot and being in control of his destination. 

From the easy way his passenger had his arm dangling from the window to catch the soft whipping of cool wind between his fingers and hair, it seemed McCree was enjoying the opposite.

The laugh that came from Jesse was begrudging. “Sorta sounds like there’s a story there.”

“There is a story behind every single one.” 

Jesse blinked in surprise at first but the expression soon shifted into a wicked grin. “That right?” 

Hanzo hedged a glance at Jesse and then back to the road, rolling his eyes as he did. 

Jesse cleared his throat dramatically and opened the book again, holding it up with with a flamboyant flick of his robotic wrist. 

“Number twenty: I saw you stroking a dog once.” 

Hanzo groaned as he realised which point Jesse was reading aloud. 

“Then you stopped when you saw me looking.” McCree glanced at Hanzo with a smirk that sang of mischief before pitching his voice higher in an uncanny impression of a teenage girl and pressing on, “Like... _ oooohhh my god _ . Stroke the  _ damn _ dog you big  _ baby _ . You are allowed nice things.”

The only thing stopping Hanzo from lowering his head into his hands was the fact that they were occupied with steering the vehicle, and though Hanzo’s cheeks flamed he decided a blush was less damning than an overturned car.

McCree laughed softly and the sound was  _ almost _ nice enough to soothe away Hanzo’s chagrin. 

They had quite a long way to continue driving and McCree had spent most of the journey lost somewhere in his own head. The sound of his sudden chattering had perked Hanzo up considerably. Like wherever Jesse had gone, Hanzo had been at a loss that he couldn’t follow and smack some sense into the cowboy. 

They’d since crossed the border. The act had been easy, plain sailing. Couple of government-issue IDs and through they went. 

No, crossing the border hadn’t been the hard part.

The hard part had been waking up with McCree’s arm tucked tight around his chest and the man’s light snoring against the nape of his neck. More specifically, the difficult part had been slipping from under his arm and packing their bags whilst the man continued to sleep when all Hanzo wanted to do was stay right there. 

The notion was difficult to comprehend. That Hanzo maybe felt safe. Maybe felt at peace. 

‘You’re allowed nice things.’ 

_ Pet the damn dog Hanzo.  _

No. Maybe the dog had deep seated emotional issues and didn’t want to be pet. Maybe the dog needed to learn how to stand on his own two--four legs before Hanzo felt right petting him. 

Maybe Hanzo needed to back off. 

Or maybe the dog would bite him and Hanzo would deserve it and--

_ Pet the  _ damn _ dog Hanzo. _

“Y’alright there darlin’?” 

Hanzo shook the cobwebs from his head and blinked himself out of his reverie, clenching his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m fine.”

“Cause I didn’t mean nothin’ by it--” 

“No, it’s not that.”

Jesse closed his mouth and exhaled a little puff of air as he turned to the window and leaned his head back. “About last night?” 

Hanzo didn’t answer. 

He could see Jesse watching him in his peripheral vision, but pretended not to notice as the sudden softness in his gaze quickly turned hard when Hanzo remained silent. 

“Let’s just get to Dorado.”

“Yes. Let’s.”

 

\---

 

It turned out McCree did not have a safehouse in Dorado, but instead knew an older lady with hair tied up in a thick black bun tight at the nape of her neck and a glare that had Hanzo reminiscing to the time his mother had caught him feeding stray cats behind the estate. 

A look that screamed ‘You should know better,’ like she’d spent many, many years feeling nothing but begrudgingly fond exasperation.

Hanzo liked those cats. He’d had a lonely childhood. 

Dorado, with its intertwining streets and hot summers, reminded him similarly of Hanamura. There was something about the scents of fresh food on a warm day with stone underfoot and the clamour of voices around him that stirred a sense of familiarity in him. Not that it was what his clan had intended him to associate with home. They’d have much rather he felt the grip of a katana and known it as the only true safe haven. 

Perhaps it was sad that for a long time that’s exactly what had happened.

They’d parked their car some ways away and stepped into the bustling town centre, Jesse still with somewhat of a limp. 

The cowboy had led them down several side alleys before reaching a bunch of buildings that were obviously much less well-off than those of the city centre’s. Children played freely on the cobble and women hung lines of washing together in front of a house, chattering good naturedly together in a language that was painfully foreign to Hanzo even despite his time in Gibraltar. 

They stopped in front of a small house, the wooden door cracked with age and the brass handle polished with use. 

“This is the place?” Hanzo had said, looking at Jesse from under his brow and pretending not to notice how pale the man was. 

He squared up his shoulders, like whatever was within was the worst threat they’d seen so far. 

Hanzo frowned and tightened his grip on the carry case holding his bow. “Should I be armed?” 

Jesse started in surprise and huffed a quick laugh. “ _ Sí _ . You sure as blue blazes should be armed.”

Without further ado he knocked metal knuckles against the door and leaned back, waiting with bated breath. 

There were the sounds of clattering from within and several chains being pulled away from the door partnered with the quiet mutterings of a woman. She swung the thing open and looked up. Meeting McCree’s eyes and hissing something as her expression contorted into shock swiftly followed by fury.

Jesse was already raising his hands in surrender when the woman leaned forward and clapped him sharply on the arm. Once, twice. Three times. 

“ _ Jesse McCree _ !” 

He laughed with heavy chagrin. Like he was suddenly twenty years younger and had been caught sneaking out. “ _ Sí. Hola María. _ ” 

The fury in her eyes grew darker. Hanzo might have even been inclined to step back were it not for the sheer hilarity of the situation.

“ _ NO ME HABLAS? NI ME MANDASTE UN MENSAJE? CON RAZÓN ALGO PASÓ SI NO ME HABLAS POR SEIS MESES CABRON.” _

And for the love of god, the woman could shout. 

Hanzo looked about, worried they might be making too much of a spectacle. But the rest of the street continued their business as if the screaming was a common event. 

Jesse had cowered further, hands raised a little higher and smile looking increasingly pained. He shrugged slowly. “ _ Lo siento,  _ lo siento _ , señora. Perdóname pero tenía que ser cosas importantes. Trabajo. Tú sabes _ .”

Whatever it was he said it did nothing to lessen the darkening fury in the woman’s--María’s eyes. 

“ _ Estaba aquí preocupando por ti, pensando que estás muerto y tu crees que puedes llegar a mi casa sin decirme? Jesse McCree, no sé si estás tonto o loco o los dos.” _

Jesse cringed. “ _ Lo siento _ .” 

From what Spanish Hanzo did know, he could recognise a couple of things:

McCree had not made his whereabouts known to this woman in over six months before turning up at her door as they did and she assumed him either stupid or crazy.

“ _ Los dos, _ ” Hanzo chimed in softly. 

María’s gaze landed on him suddenly and had Hanzo wondering whether it was such a good idea to speak up. Expecting a similar fury, he was surprised instead when the energy swept out of her and she smiled at him warmly before glancing back at McCree.

“ _ Y el novio? _ ”

McCree hissed loudly, landing his face in his palms in embarrassment. “ _ María! _ ”

Hanzo grasped at his pitiful knowledge of Spanish but couldn’t think of what the word she’d used was, so instead he settled for greeting her, bowing low. “ _ Mucho gusto, Señora.” _

“Polite too.” She smiled again. Minus the rage the woman had soft brown eyes and soft wrinkles lining the skin around them. Her cheeks sagged a little with age but she held her head high, with the airs of a woman who knew her place in the world and expected those in it to prove themselves worthy of their own. 

McCree still had a hand covering his face and slightly slumped shoulders. Hanzo quietly thanked his luck for the language switch. “My name is Hanzo Shimada. I’m travelling alongside Jesse for now.” 

The woman quirked a dark brow and swapped her gaze back to McCree.  _ “Él es muy guapo.” _

McCree didn’t even answer, instead groaning softly into his hand. María turned her attention away from him once again, seemingly smug with herself for having reduced Jesse to a red-eared mess.

“You must be having a tough time keeping the boy out of trouble.” 

Hanzo smiled politely. “He is quite capable.” 

She rolled her eyes and tutted loudly, wiping the front of her hands down an aged skirt and shaking her head as she turned her anger back on McCree. “He is foolish! Dimwitted!  _ Estúpido! Cabron! _ ”

“Hey now,” Jesse piped up, still red around the ears and cringing like a scolded child. 

“ _ Lo siento _ , Hanzo. Please, come in.” With that she turned her back to them and walked away from the door, deeper into the interior of the house. Hanzo turned to Jesse with what he presumed to be a straight face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” McCree huffed. Hanzo’s expression cracked into an amused chuckle.    
“Is she family?” 

McCree shrugged. “She near enough raised me. So hell, maybe.”

The way María busied herself around a warm-stone kitchen and dragged Jesse about by his sleeve certainly reminded him of family. 

“Please, sit,  _ sit _ .” She gestured to a large wooden table in the middle of the kitchen. The whole place smelled of warm spices and home cooking, and the table itself was cast in an orange hue against the terracotta walls and yellow sunlight streaming in through dusty net curtains. 

Taking a seat at the end of the table, Jesse lowered himself carefully but not so much so that he’d alert María to his injuries. Hanzo watched him with a critical eye and followed suit, taking the chair next to him and apologising quietly as wooden legs scraped against the stone floor. 

After María filled a pot with water and put it on the stove, she turned and placed her hands on her hips with a tired sigh. “What is it this time Jesse? What kind of trouble have you trailed here?” 

“None,  _ Señora _ .”

She shot a knowing smile at Hanzo. “I find  _ that _ hard to believe.” He reciprocated the expression. 

There were a couple of minutes of twitchy silence as Jesse kneaded a hand through his serape and María was left to steal worried glances every few seconds. The tea boiled and María handed him a mug just as Hanzo grew weary of the unnecessary lack of communication.

“I believe what Jesse means is that we are simply in need of shelter. I require a set location for a drop-off and Jesse finds himself in need of a soft bed.” 

The indignant glare McCree shot him was met with a wry grin hidden behind the lip of a mug. As expected, María took that as incentive to once again start fussing over the man, having him stand up so she could thoroughly poke at him and check over his injuries. 

The way McCree allowed María to circle him like a very literal Nursing Shark reminded Hanzo suddenly of number 33. 

‘ _ You have people that care about you so much. You shouldn’t forget that. _ ’ 

The issue was that it was never so much about forgetting as much as it was not being able to comprehend it. Genji had forgiven him and his team needed him to have his head and heart in the group. But Hanzo, as he had for so long, drifted. Looking back, the bitterness that had decayed his emotion had erected a physical barrier between him and finding peace. 

Only once a person realises the barrier exists can they go about knocking it down. 

He wondered if Jesse knew. 

Over his tea Hanzo listened to María’s grouching in quickfire Spanish and McCree’s resigned grumbling as he raised his arms in the air and let María push frozen vegetables to the bruising. 

If Hanzo were caught smiling warmly as he sipped his drink at the way Jesse thanked María sincerely, then he’d swear it was just due to the good tea. 

  
  


\--

  
  


“The airdrop is happening in an hour just outside of the city centre. The package will be in a drone-type device. Possibly one of Torbjörn’s designs,” Hanzo affirmed as he double checked his communicator’s screen. 

_ PACKAGE CONFIRMED - MEDIUM BIOTIC EMITTER _

“Good to know the old timer’s still at his tricks--say, he still call his turret ‘baby’?” 

Hanzo shuddered a little, the Swedish engineer’s voice echoing in his head. “Unfortunately yes.”

Jesse guffawed, slapping his knee and pulling backwards on the couch they were both sat on in the spare room.

“Dang, didn’t half give me the creeps.” 

“You grow accustomed to it after a while.”

Jesse just laughed louder. “And ain’t that the sad truth.”

As the laughter died down and Hanzo scouted the small room, resisting the urge to turn over the old fashioned electronics for bugs, he turned to McCree.

“How are you feeling?” The question was laced with seriousness. It was less a friendly concern than it was a serious tactical question. The matter of Talon remained and he needed to know whether Jesse would be able to defend himself if the circumstance called for it. 

“Ribs twinge something fierce. I’d say I’m pretty much outta commission ‘til we get that biotic emitter. S’that what you wanna hear?” 

Hanzo cocked a brow. “Is there something else you’re failing to mention?”   
“Jus’ that were it to me alone I’d say I’m fit as a damn fiddle. Could move on that facility right now with or without treatment.” 

Rather than looking prideful of this statement, Jesse’s posture read as confused and he stared down suddenly, expression riddled with hesitation. “‘Cept I ain’t am I? Fit as a fiddle, that is.”

Hanzo inhaled deeply and stood up, pacing over to the bedroom window. “I can’t tell you that.”

“You talkin’ ‘bout my head or my ribs?”

Hanzo huffed a laugh. “Why not both?” The words echoed around his head in Hana’s voice. He could imagine her shaking her head at Jesse. 

A temptation that was hard to deny. 

“Is this about last night?” Hanzo asked, repeating the question Jesse had asked earlier. It was growing dark outside, they had been travelling all day and it showed in the deep circles around their eyes. They were both weary physically and mentally and they had yet to crack past any real Talon defences at the warehouse which signalled the worst was yet to come. 

“Nah.” McCree hummed thoughtfully. “I get ya. I do. I ain’t exactly--”

Hanzo interrupted him sharply, “Stop that train of thought right there, Jesse McCree, before you give me a reason to call María back in.” 

McCree blinked in surprise as Hanzo paced around and crouched in front of him, both hands on the man’s knees. “This may come as a surprise to you, but the reason you are thinking last night went the way it did is incorrect.” 

“An’ how d’ya figure I think it went, Professor X?” 

The reference was lost on Hanzo but he continued nonetheless, “We are working together. We both are tied to an organisation you have a violent history with. Do you truly believe it is such an intelligent idea to push this relationship past a formal one?” 

Jesse grinned suddenly, leaning forward. 

“You sayin’ that if I’d caught ya in a bar you’d’ve come home with me?”

Hanzo’s eyes widened imperceptibly as his brows shot up and he sputtered a little, “I-- _ McCree _ .” 

Lightning quick, before Hanzo could do a thing about it, Jesse stole a kiss. 

Indignantly, Hanzo aimed a well-placed jab to his ribs and pulled back quickly as Jesse hissed a, “Hey now  _ watch it _ ” and rubbed his sore chest. 

“You. Jesse McCree you are absolutely--” Suddenly lost for words Hanzo threw his arms up. 

McCree was grinning again. “I think the words ya used a while back were dashing and  _ rakish _ .” 

“This is an appalling idea. There is too much at stake, there is too much tied into this.” 

“Darlin’, somethin’ I learned through all my years is that if ya feel a spark, then life’s too short not to chase it.” 

Hanzo wished he could argue with that sentiment. 

He wished he could. 

But then he’d be a hypocrite. 

 

\--

  
  


He left McCree with María rather than bring the man with him to collect the drop. Jesse was hesitant at first, suspicious even. Hanzo couldn’t say he blamed him. It near-enough surprised him when McCree relented with a quiet nod of his head. It was testament to how far they’d come in such a short time. Not long ago Jesse would have insisted he accompany Hanzo, if only to watch the man closely. 

Dusty streetlamps illuminated the dark alleys and lanes he navigated in order to reach the city outskirts. A single person in the night attracted far less attention than a pair and he was happy enough for the opportunity to clear his head. 

Emboldened by the warm night and the low hanging moon, Hanzo cleared fences and jogged unseen through the empty streets. 

His comm buzzed in his pocket just as he arrived to the drop-off zone and heard the telltale buzzing of a drone’s propellers. 

Whipping the device out of his coat he opened the screen to read, “1x Biotic Emitter. Don’t forget to keep us informed. - W”

Grateful, he messaged back a quick thank you and turned his eyes to the sky in time to see the drone appear from above the rooftops and lower itself with precision into the alleyway. It dropped off the emitter before buzzing away. 

Hanzo weighed the object in his hands, small and warm to the touch even when powered down. As Amari once put it, ‘Nothing can replace good old fashioned healing. But these will get you on your feet again and ready for the next round.’ 

That’s all that Jesse needed for the moment. 

Hanzo quietly lifted a hand to his lips and frowned a little at the lingering sensation of Jesse’s lips against his, sharpened by a coy grin.

McCree had a habit of making things far more complicated than they needed to be. 

Another voice appeared in his mind, one of a faceless UN member, swimming dizzying circles around Hanzo’s ambivalent emotions. ‘ _ Bring Jesse McCree in to face legal justice, _ ’ it said, and Hanzo’s heart pulled painfully. 

Struck with sudden emotional confusion, he took a second to lean heavily against a wall. His hands carded through his hair, pulling strands out of his bun and leaving them hanging loosely against his neck.

Initially his mind raced to, ‘What would Hana do?’ and then, ‘Genji?’ 

Lúcio, Satya, Angela?

No, but that wasn’t the point, was it? 

Everything, all of it. All of the healing and stumbling first steps into the proverbial sunlight of recovery had lead to a point where he would need to make a decision. 

And trust  _ himself _ to know the answer. 

 

He inhaled deeply. “No more running.” 

 

And began the walk back.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey folks. I'm sorry about the long hiatus.   
> Fact of the matter is that I haven't been very well and I just couldn't touch this fic while I was poorly. At its heart this piece is built on recovery and healing. It didn't feel right adding to it when I didn't believe it.   
> Well guess what? Lefty's back baby.   
> Thank you as ever to my lovely betas [Tsol](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorQui/pseuds/DoctorQui) and [Mango](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentMango/pseuds/MalevolentMango).  
> and thank you for reading. Feels good to be back on track.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to just abandon this work when I knew so many people had an attachment to it. This was the final chapter that ever had any work done and is not beta'd so forgive any mistakes. Thank you for reading, how you want this story to end past here is completely up to you. I'm adding the Guide as the final chapter.

Hanzo was an intelligent man. 

Of course he was. 

The fact wasn’t egotistical nor fuelled from any hubris. It was simply a fact. 

Without his intelligence he would not have survived the life he’d been granted. However, intelligence does not equate to wisdom. Nor does morality equate to intelligence. If it did perhaps his brother would not be part omnic and perhaps the Shimada Clan would be a changed organisation. 

Still, intelligence kept him breathing on days where the hitmen came in their hordes and no food slipped past his lips without first being checked for poisons.

But, as previously mentioned. 

It did  _ not _ equate to wisdom. 

And it certainly did not equate to moral judgement. 

Really, on his path to becoming whatever Genji deemed a better man, Hanzo was still new at it. He was new at understanding soft smiles and stolen kisses and the way his team mates would look at him with trust in their eyes. It was a learned thing, he figured. It wasn’t ingrained into him, it wasn’t an in-built default to be a good person like it was for people like Lúcio or Hana. No, for him every new step was one he looked back on and thought ‘Was that okay?’. Only before that meant ‘Will that step lead me to certain death?’ now it meant ‘Did I hurt people?’ and after so long only caring for himself it was an entirely new sensation to be met with the idea that things he did impacted others. 

Emotions weren’t something he factored into life and death. Sure he could feel guilt, he could feel remorse. He had bathed in them for over ten years. But killing your brother was a lot different to words coming off too harsh or withholding a secret that shouldn’t have been withheld. 

They knew Talon was involved in these warehouses. In retrospect the vast wealth that must have gone into trafficking, smuggling and acquiring elite weapons pointed to several organisations and Talon forefronting the entire operation was less a surprise than it was a point of frustration. This being the case indicated that Talon had accumulated far more power in their time than Overwatch had previously imagined. And with Talon’s personal vendetta against Overwatch tied into the stakes it made matters much more complex. 

Hanzo was left with a moral dilemma. 

And damn his feelings for having developed a mind of their own and putting a metaphorical hand on his shoulder and whispering, ‘ _ Jesse is getting involved in something far more dangerous than he intended to.’ _

He was met with a sudden mental image of McCree stood upon a train, serape flapping about him like some imagined caricature of a hero in a spaghetti western. 

Except it  _ wasn’t _ a caricature. McCree really was that utterly flamboyant.. 

No, the danger didn’t stem from the warehouses themselves, rather being trapped between a rock and a hard place. Defeat Talon, get apprehended by Overwatch. Don’t defeat Talon--

Don’t defeat Talon wasn’t a viable option. 

Hanzo had lead McCree by the hand into a trap. 

All whilst preaching forgiveness and trust. 

These were all things he realised on the jog back. Things that spiralled in his head like birds cawing at him for attention. 

And something else he realised? They had it. 

They had his attention. 

He couldn’t ignore it any longer. He couldn’t ignore the burning need to spend his time with Jesse, to coax smiles out of Jesse, to watch the man take shaky steps into better boots. It was something Hanzo hadn’t experienced before. But he knew it wasn’t a bad thing because how could something that settled within him so warmly, so  _ comfortably _ ever be a bad thing? 

It’s amidst the screaming (cawing) thoughts of, ‘You must tell him the UN want to take him in.’ and ‘You must let him know this mission is compromised for him’. That he realises it. And the thought hits him so sharply it almost knocks him from his feet.

‘I need this man to stay alive.’ 

To a regular human being the sentiment would seem obvious. Petty, even. But for a man whose entire existence up until only a couple of years ago had been based only on the foundation of ‘I must keep  _ myself _ alive at all costs’ the sudden presence of other souls in that equation was a difficult one keep up with. 

He’d realised it slowly at first; a held breath too long after a fired arrow upon watching Hana eject herself from her mech. Or an exhale of relief upon hearing Satya’s voice on the comm after a too long silence. 

Little things that were commonplace for everyone else, but a burning, crushing realisation for Hanzo. His days of being alone were over. 

They weren’t over the day he joined Overwatch. 

Nor were they over as people spoke to him in the hallways and issued him orders over crackling comms. 

They were over that first time Hanzo realised, with a heart beating fast in his chest, that the weight in his stomach and the tension to his shoulders and the smile pulling at the corners of his lips and everything else that came with it. 

Was happiness and  _ relief _ and and--

He burst into McCree and his shared room. 

Jesse sat bolt upright, hat falling off his head and long-dead cigar falling from his lips. He looked bewilderedly at Hanzo who, he imagined, looked rather a bedraggled mess. Panting, eyes wide as his chest pulled breath into his lungs.

“What is--” 

Hanzo imagined Jesse was possibly going to ask ‘ _ What is it? _ ’, would probably ask if they were in trouble, if Hanzo had seen something. 

He didn’t quite get to ask. 

Interrupted by Hanzo dropping to his knees next to him, cupping his cheeks between both hands and pulling their faces together. 

Then they were kissing and--

And nothing had ever felt more right in Hanzo’s entire life. 

And to hell with the consequences. 

And damn the UN. 

McCree was kissing him back with fervour but not lacking tenderness, his right hand curving around the back of Hanzo’s neck and the other resting at the small of his back. Hanzo’s hands remained right where they’d started, cupping Jesse’s cheeks carefully so that he could feel stubble below his fingers and warm skin. 

Jesse pushed him back softly and Hanzo allowed him, allowed his back to touch the wooden floor and only protesting softly when Jesse pulled back slightly for a breath. 

“Not that this ain’t a happy damn surprise but..Why the change of heart?” 

“Well I--” Before he could finish answering McCree’s lips were on his again and he wrapped his arms around the back of the man’s neck, content to lean into it. This time when Jesse pulled back the man looked smug and Hanzo’s the one left looking bewildered.

“And that’s how that feels, ya varmint.” 

He barked a sharp laugh as Jesse pressed kisses into his hairline, neck, face.

“Yes I suppose it must have come as a shock. I apologize.”

“Naw.” Jesse mumbled, lips still busy in charting their path across Hanzo’s skin to really be used for talking, “Don’ be sorry. I ain’t sorry.”   
Hanzo caught the wince before Jesse could hide it and tilted the man’s face up. “You are still injured.”

“Aha, yer damn right I am, but this is fine. I am fine with this, you know my mama always used to say--” 

Hanzo gently pushed him off before he could launch into what he anticipated would be a wildly edited anecdote as to the reason they should continue making out on the floor like teenagers rather than healing his ribs like the adults they were. 


	8. The Guide

  1. First of all you’re not actually weird. Well...yeah you are you’re really weird but like not _weird_ weird you’re just...sad I think. And when you’re sad it makes you weird. But I wasn’t about to name this thing Hana Song’s Guide on How to Not be Sad because that’s just a major bummer. You have no friends and you’re sad. So yeah. I want to help and I really hope you’ll carry on letting me because it’s gonna be super easy for you to just ignore this. I hope you don’t though. So yeah...guide number one: Let me be your friend. 
  2. Eat food and drink water every single day! Twice a day at least!
  3. If someone asks you a question, answer it. Don't just like, walk away. That's super weird. Bonus points if you answer it with more than a y/n
  4. If you don’t know how to make friends with someone, just ask them if they want tea.
  5. if they say no make them some anyway worst that happens is you have more tea for yourself.
  6. Sometimes people say things they don’t mean when they’re mad. This is you a lot of the time and it’s okay to do it I guess just remember that saying sorry is braver than being a stubborn asshole about it. 
  7. if you're sleepy you're weirder than usual so, like, get 8 hours if you can
  8. if you can't sleep come find me  : / : /
  9. Ana sleep darted me once (this isn’t a pointer. I just remembered and it made me laugh)
  10. It’s okay to admit that you’re not okay
  11. stop telling people you're better than them (don't worry Lúcio had to tell me this one like?? i didnt get it lol i mean I AM better than them)
  12. but remember that you ARE pretty great
  13. I get that talking can be hard sometimes so you don’t need to all the time, I got you. Or other people have got you. 
  14. It is okay to ask for healing! You deserve healing just as much as everyone else.
  15. Try to smile about things, even if it’s just a little bit. Lúcio says that just remembering you have the capacity to be happy helps sometimes and it kinda does actually
  16. if you were to get hurt a lot of people would be very sad. I know you don’t believe it sometimes. But it’s true.
  17. read 16 again
  18. If someone ever says something mean to you: tell me!
  19. don't be mean to people either. they're trying their best most of the time even if they have it coming. my dad always told me that 'you have to be the bigger person.'
  20. I saw you stroking a dog once then you stopped when you saw me looking like ohhhh my god stroke the damn dog you big baby. You are allowed nice things!!!
  21. if u wanna get drunk try like, drinking with other people. reinhardt likes beer and he sings when he's drunk it's super funny
  22. Sometimes you’re going to have bad days when you’re going to be really weird and nothing helps. It sucks but i promise you’re not letting yourself down or anyone else either. Just keep going. Always keep going.
  23. Doritos and mountain dew aren’t real food (imagine i said that in lúcio’s voice because i think it’s fake)
  24. recovery doesn't have to be an uphill battle. you got people. we got you. we're all big saps and we’re a team. this one's an important one.



25 .sometimes you've just got to pretend you can stand people. the worst that happens is you need to bear with it for a little bit.

  1. We’re like...plants...we need daylight. We need sun and water and air and you can’t get any of those things if you’re locked up in your room or fighting constantly.
  2. Don’t do stupid things on the field that you know might put you in danger. It’s not like you have a mech. _Neoneun baboya._
  3. no one can help you if you don't let them know anything's wrong
  4. Don’t take people for granted. Don’t let other people take you for granted. 
  5. you're nicer than you give yourself credit for  <3
  6. Sometimes you just have to trust your team. Numb skull. 
  7. I have a rule in video games: if you’re stuck you do the complete opposite to what you have been doing. Kind of works for life too.
  8. You have people that care about you so much. You shouldn’t forget that. 




End file.
